


To Love What Death Can Touch

by Strength_in_pain



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abused Peter Parker, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe, Avengers Family, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Angst, Bruce Banner Hulks Out, Child Abuse, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Depiction of Violence, Enemies to Friends, Found Family, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Peter Parker, I Think I Just Wrote A Novel, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Foster Kid, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Smoking, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker has PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark Argue, Swearing, Thief Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, i guess, not too graphic, thief Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: Tis a fearful thing, to love what death can touch ~ Yehuda HaleviFor nearly ten years Tony Stark was part of an elite criminal organization known as the Black Order. He was a broken man when they found him and he was easily manipulated into joining. After ten years, Tony broke away and joined a new group called the Avengers.Now Tony and The Avengers use their highly trained thieving skills to stop the Black Order from hurting others. But when the Avengers take in a mysterious runaway named Peter, everything in Tony’s life changes especially when his past comes back to haunt him in more ways than one.(Or you know, the one where Tony is a thief but he’s still good, and he basically becomes Peter’s father figure eventually, but it takes a while because he has a lot of past issues to work through.)
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Bruce Banner & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Clint Barton & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, Nick Fury & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Adrian Toomes, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 105
Kudos: 91





	1. Step 1: Survey Your Surroundings

**Author's Note:**

> The black suit hanging  
> on my door asks me  
> to put it on. I do, but then  
> can’t find my shadow.  
> When I step outside  
> I wear the night  
> Like an enormous costume.  
> ~ Matt Rasmussen 
> 
> (I hope you all had a fantastic holiday yesterday if you celebrate. And now onto the new year. Cheers to a brand new beginning starting with this brand new book!)

Blaring speakers vibrated the entire car as it zipped past a Sunoco gas station and screeched to a halt in front of the eyesore of an apartment building. 

Tony Stark, who had his feet on the dash, was drumming to his favorite Guns N’ Roses song when he peered over his sunglasses at the torn-up building.

“Are you sure you got the right address?”

His driver, Happy, cranked down the music, and nodded. “Yeah, it say it right here.” He handed Tony his iPhone. “Residence of Stephen Strange.”

Tony skimmed the iPhone, before waving it away. “Goes to show you that this dude isn’t a real ‘doctor’, or else he wouldn’t living in a place like this.”

Happy shrugged, smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe he’s don’t know half the things he claims he knows, boss.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing.” They exchanged cocky grins before Tony stepped out of the vehicle.

“So, you got a plan?” Happy asked, sticking his bearded chin out the window.

“Don’t I always?”

Happy shrugged and tilted his hand so-so.

“What?! Are you kidding me right now?” Tony squawked, his laugh lines showing.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Go buy a ski mask, I’m tired of looking at your face.”

“Wow. Did you just -“

“Yup.”

“ - tell me to cover my face -“

“Yes I did.” Tony confirmed.

“With a ski mask.”

“I’m trying to help you with the ladies.”

Happy flashed him the middle finger and Tony couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped his lips. 

“Get outta here, Hogan. Go meet some frisky women or sleep in that bar in Eastwood.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, you will.”

Tony slammed the car door behind him, and slapped the trunk, watching as Happy sped off into the mid-afternoon sun. Such a great guy, that Happy. Too bad Tony only knows him through business. They would really enjoy having a few beers together. Maybe someday, if the job ever let up.

Fixing his bland uniform, which Tony absolutely hated, he smoothed over any wrinkles and began strolling towards the pitiful apartment building.

Three years ago, Tony didn’t have to wear a ridiculous outfit when he was casing a joint, but ever since Steve Roger’s took charge, he’s been playing dress-up more times than a little girl on a play date. It was mildly irritating, and one day, Tony was going to give Steve a piece of his mind.

But today was not that day.

No, today, Tony had to focus on his mission. He had an alarm system to dismantle, but first he needed to work on the security cameras. Luckily this dump was severely understaffed and underfunded. The equipment was nearly broken to begin with, so Tony doubted anyone would question if a few cameras went black.

When he entered through the apartment door, he spotted a short heavy woman seated in her office.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

Tony didn’t expect to run into the landlord immediately, but Steve suspected it might happen. That’s why he suggested Tony wear the stupid disguise in the first place. So at least he was prepared.

“Yes. Hello. My name is Howard Potts,” he lied smoothly, “I’m from the AT&T Alarm Company. A fellow from room 204 asked if I could come down here and check on his alarm system, but he’s not answering his phone. Would you mind opening the door for me? I would hate to have to tell my boss about this. It’s my first week on the job.”

The lady grunted, tapping her fingers on her desk. Tony thought for sure she wasn’t buying his story the way she was scrutinizing him, but alas, she stood and said, “Follow me.”

The elevator ride was short and silent. It always made Tony uncomfortable to share such a tight space with a total stranger, though he would never show it.

On the exterior, Tony was about as relaxed as a warm bath on a cold winters evening. He was calm, cool and collected. He could soothe just about anyone by flashing his charming smile or by stating a self-deprecating joke. His comebacks were fast. Steve always said he had this whole witty-verbal-thing going for him. But Tony’s best asset, was his ability to remain cool in the most stressful of situations. Like having a gun pointed at his head.

But in all honesty, Tony was a good actor and nothing more. He was the guy people wanted to be because Tony made himself look like he had everything, but really, he had next to nothing.

So sure, his act had saved his ass multiple times, but that’s all it was, was an act. On a typical day, Tony felt nervous, scared, angry, sad, because, well hey, he was only human after all. But any showing emotion, other than strength, was a dangerous thing to do for criminals. And God help him, Tony was a ten-year criminal, aiming for a lifetime sentence if he ever got caught. Getting wrapped up into a life of crime wasn’t his high-school career goal. He didn’t wake up one morning and say, ‘hey, I think I’m going to be a thief for a living.’ But life happens. 

Shit happened. Tony doesn’t look back on the past, or reminisce about what once was. Long ago he was a different person, but again, things happened. No point in dwelling.

The landlord walked him past a row of dank wooden doors in a hallway that seemed to get narrower with every step. At last, she paused in front of room 204.

“Aw crap,” The woman exclaimed, “I forgot my keys. You wait here, sugar.”

Tony frowned, silently cursing Steve Rogers for his ridiculous plan while the landlord waltzed back into the elevator. If Tony could have picked the lock, then this whole awkward standing around situation could have been avoided. But now he had this undercover thing going so he couldn’t pick the lock. Huffing a breath, Tony ran a hand through his short black hair sprucing up the few strands that drooped at the front. He turned to see if there was a mirror so he could fix it. Albeit, this shitty apartment didn’t look like the type to have a mirror in the hallway. Nevertheless, Tony scanned the area. Diagonal from him was a kid standing near an apartment door. Tony did a double take, then went ridged.

A boy, not even twenty, with a fresh-face, and thin frame anchored his coffee brown eyes into Tony’s skull. He wore a white t-shirt with khakis like an innocent school boy. But he was slumped against a door, cigarette dangling from his lips, hair slicked-back with gel which made him look like a sinful greaser. How he managed to look like both at the same time was a mystery to Tony, but there was something enthralling about the kid. Something about his face, something in those deep brown eyes that told Tony this kid had seen things no man should ever see.

Perhaps that’s how Tony let himself make awkward eye-contact, he was too intrigued to look away.

The kid tapped his cigarette against his thigh. Tony watched as a few ashes fell to the ground. Who was buying this kid cigarettes?

Just as he was about to open his mouth and ask, the door behind the boy flew open. Tony jumped at the unexpected sight, and the kid tumbled back onto the floor, wincing. He took a decent fall, but despite the abrupt surprise, he never once made a sound. The silent kid gazed up to see who opened the door on him. Tony followed his gaze to an old man with a receding grey hairline.

Tony watched as the old man, who was most likely not that old, maybe fifties, gave a kick to the kid’s side.

_Ok_ ay. _That was uncalled for,_ Tony thought to himself, watching uncomfortably as the scene unfolded before him.

“What are you doing out here?” The man barked. When he was given no response, he fisted the kid’s t-shirt into a firm grasp and yanked him up onto his feet.

“Get your ass inside and set the fucking table you worthless little bitch.” There was a slap on the back of the kid’s head, and it was by no means gentle. 

Tony expected the boy to rub the back of his head. Maybe mutter a sheepish apology and scurry inside with his tail tucked between his legs. He looked like he wanted to do that, he was small enough, scared enough. But the kid stood tall, shoulders back, and eyed the old man with a cold glare before striding inside. Smugly little fucker. 

Tony smirked. _A kid after his own heart_. For some reason he felt a pang of pride for how well the kid handled himself. 

The door slammed shut and Tony could hear the yelling continue only it was muffled now.

“Did you really think you could skip out on your chores this evening? What? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

There was a silence that followed, and the kid either didn’t respond, or Tony couldn’t hear. Either way, it didn’t matter though. Tony had a mission to complete, and that random kid was not part of the plan. 

Already, he was growing impatient waiting for the landlord to return. Just as he started tapping his foot, a loud crashing sound startled him. It was coming from that room again. A whistling swoosh and a thud followed. _A whistling swoosh and a thud._ The noise repeated itself over and over again. Tony’s been around long enough to know what an ass-beating sounded like - most of the time he was on the receiving end - and that whistling swoosh sound was it. 

_Thud. Swish. Thud. Swish. Thud. Swish._

Poor kid. Tony winced. That had to hurt.

_Swish thud swish thudswishthudswishthud._

It was impressive the kid wasn’t shouting or making any type of noise. Tony would have at the kid’s age. He would have shouted his head off, cursed the old man out, maybe try and kick him in the nuts. But this boy was different. He was so silent. It was rather admirable really, the kid’s stoicism, but also unnerving. 

Maybe the boy was mute? He hadn’t said one word since Tony laid eyes on him. And if that were the case, and the kid couldn’t scream, then who knows how badly he _would be_ right now, if he could. 

At that thought, Tony felt his stomach plummet to the floor. His arms broke out into goosebumps as the nosies grew louder and louder. His heart gave a lurch in his chest and he took a step toward the door, ready to beat the ever-living hell out the older man whipping this poor child, and that’s when the landlord popped around the corner with the right set of keys. “Sorry about that, honey.” 

Tony smiled his thousand-watt smile. “Not a problem.” 

He thanked the landlord, and walked into room 204 with his small toolkit and immediately went to work. The whole time he was working, he couldn’t stop thinking about what just happened. He almost blew everything! And for what? Some stupid kid. Tony didn’t even like kids. So why the hell was he tempted to help one? Especially one he just saw for a few minutes. That was so unprofessional of him. Jesus Christ. If the rest of his team ever found out about this, they would tear him apart and fed him to the lions. 

After dismantling the Alarm system, and setting a few key strategies into play. Tony was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. He took a few photos, sent them to his team and cased the joint the best he could. So all that was left to do was grab a beer, and go home. 

When Tony left the room, he found the kid sitting back outside his apartment door with a bloody gash on his forehead and a cigarette pressed to his trembling lips. He stared at Tony for a long moment, something challenging in his eyes; as if he wanted to see if Tony had the balls to question him or not. 

It’s not that Tony didn’t have balls (ask any of his ten women) it’s the fact that he didn’t give a shit. At least that’s what he told himself during the taxi ride to the local bar. 

Maybe at one point in his life he would have cared, but things happened and that part of Tony was long gone. 

Apart from two guys sitting on bar stools staring at their drinks, the bar was pretty much dead. Not really surprising considering it was a Monday afternoon, but still, Tony didn’t expect it to be so empty. 

Quiet meant he had time to think, and unfortunately, his thoughts were on the kid with the gash on his forehead. He knew what was happening. Anyone with eyes could see that type of abuse from a mile away, but it wasn’t Tony’s problem. Besides, who was he to report something like that? He’d probably end up in jail the second he tried to contact an officer, and again, it wasn’t Tony’s problem. So calling child services was out of the question. He was going to enjoy a quick snack, buy a case of beer, flash some cash, hit on a girl and not give a seconds thought. 

So that’s what he did. He found a beautiful blonde, and they both got a little tipsy. After buying a case of beer, Tony got in a taxi cab, and handed a big wad of cash over to the driver.

“Ignore whatever happens back here, and just drive, got it?”

The driver looked over the money and nodded. “Yes sir. You got it.”

Once the cab started to move, Tony placed the pretty blonde with a tiny glittery skirt on his lap, and began to kiss and nip at her neck. 

After ten minutes, the girl departed at a hair salon, and Tony fixed his clothes while directing the driver where to go next. 

When he arrived at the automobile repair shop, with a big garage, he handed the driver more money for the long trip, and patted his shoulder.

“You have a good night, man.”

“You as well, sir.”

Tony clicked his tongue, “Oh trust me, I will. Have fun watching the game.” He waved goodbye, stumbling over to the multiple car garage with metal roll-up doors. There were two walk-in doors as well, but his team always kept them bolted. As for the roll-up metal, it had a code which Tony quickly typed in before pulling the metal panel open. 

“Tony!” Bruce Banner shouted, knocking over a bottle of Orange Crush. “You brought beer! Oh thank God.”

Bruce Banner was a vigorous middle-aged man with dark hair and anger issues. It wasn’t the poor guy’s fault. A lot of shit happened in his life too. Beginning to see a pattern? 

Tossing Bruce a beer, Tony strutted across the wide open garage, over to the little kitchen area where Natasha was heating up french fries in the microwave. 

“Got a cold one for me?” She asked. Natasha was younger than Tony, and he often thought of her as a little sister. She was beyond sexy, with her emerald green eyes, fair skin, and red hair that fell just to her shoulders. But she just wasn’t Tony’s type. At first glance, one would think Natasha was a Disney Princess. But then she’d open her mouth, and you would quickly realize she’s equal parts Cinderella and Evil Stepsister. Not to mention, she could kick anyone’s ass which made her the perfect little sister for Tony to tease. 

“Right here.” He handed Natasha a beer before stealing one of her french fries. 

“Hey!” She exclaimed. “Get back here.” She threw a couple of fries at his face, but Tony was already running away towards the tiny office in the corner of the garage, where Steve worked. Good ole Steve Rogers wasn’t home yet, so Tony left a beer beside the door, then climbed the winding staircase. There were a few spare rooms originally designed for storage located at the top, but his team turned them into bedrooms over the years. Since most of them lived in the garage, it only made sense. 

“Knock knock. Beer call.” Tony said, tapping his knuckles on the door. 

Clint Barton opened the bedroom door, grabbed two beers, then shut it again. Tony shook his head. “Ah, it’s good to be home.”

He took a moment to enter one of the other ‘bedrooms’ they created. It was nothing special, but it had the basics: a bed, a simple dresser, and a lamp. Tony paused in the doorway, surveying the old broken car parts scattered in the corner, the bare walls, cold cement floor, and breathed in the smell of rust. He wondered if the boy he saw earlier today lived anywhere like this. He hoped so. Any place would be better than that filthy old building.

Abruptly losing interest in the empty bedroom, Tony wondered back downstairs, and popped open the hood of a 1950’s Ford Convertible in order to grab another hidden stash of beer. 

“Tony! Get your ass over here. You’re missing the game.” Bruce shouted, shaking a bowl of Chex Mix on his lap. Tony moseyed on over to the little couch and sat on the armrest. He remembered the day he stole this particular couch from a moving truck. That was a good day. He scored big on other furniture items as well.

“WHO LEFT THE FUCKING HOOD OPEN.” Bruce screeched, pounding his fists against this thighs. Tony was quite used to Bruce’s emotional outbursts, especially when he had a few beers in him and was excited about the game. A lot of small things set him off into his “freak out mode.” The best way to deal with it, was to just fix the issue. That worked well with small issues at least, but not so much large emotional Issues.

“My bad, buddy. Let me close that.” Tony said patting his shoulder. 

Twenty minutes later, and a lot of drinks later, Steve Rogers showed up at the garage with a big bag of take-out. 

“Ah Steve! You’re a life saver!” Nat muttered, as she jumped up to snatch the food from his hands.

“I see you didn’t waste any time heating up those french fries... or opening the chips.” Steve muttered under his breath. He was a tall, well-built, blond man, who basically resembled a Ken doll in Tony’s opinion. Now Tony was the complete opposite; he was short, well-built but in a different way, and he had dark hair and brown eyes. Tony might not be in the running for Ken Doll, but he could definitely play Ralph Macchio’s stunt double. They were complete opposites but each other’s equal in every way. 

“Game day, Rogers.” Natasha said, as if that should explain why they opened the bag of fries and chips.

“I’m more interested in our game day which is tomorrow in case anyone forgot.” Steve placed his hands on his hips. No one chose to notice.

“Tony, how did it go?” Steve finally asked. 

“Apart from me getting chased by the authorities for two hours, it went spectacular.”

“Excuse me?” Steve drew his mouth into a straight line. It was too fun to mess with this guy. 

“I’m just kidding. Hey did you get me a double cheeseburger?” Tony asked, making grabby hands for the bag. 

Bruce hummed and handed the crinkled, greasy bag over to him. “Should be in there. At the bottom.”

“You know I can’t eat anything else.” He reached in and pulled out a double cheeseburger. “Perfect.”

Steve didn’t look the least bit amused. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

That’s the thing about Steve Rogers: not only were his looks completely the opposite of Tony’s, but so was his personality. Steve was organized, strategic and serious. And Tony, well, Tony was not any of those things.

“Relax, Mr. Grouch, the location is secure.”

“You dismantled the alarm?” 

“Noooo,” Tony’s voice oozed with sarcasm. “I just walked in for a cup of tea, stayed for a biscuit, played some charades.”

Steve broke eye-contact, giving a quick shake of the head. 

“Of course I dismantled the alarm!”

“Well,” Steve crossed his arms over his chest, “This would be the first time you actually did your job. Congrats.”

A deep ache settled in Tony’s jaw and he realized he was clenching his teeth. 

“Easy gentlemen.” Bruce warned. 

“I figured out a plan for the security cameras, and all the other billions of things you had me do.” Tony spat.

“Good,” Steve put his duffel bag down in the corner. He would need all his senses intact for the job tomorrow but for tonight he could afford to unwind. “You know I only have you do this stuff because you’re the most skilled man for the job, right?”

“Shhh,” Natasha shouted, eyes glued to the TV. They all knew better than to bother her when she was watching football.

“Alright,” Steve sighed. “If we’re all prepared for tomorrow, then pass me the fries.”

“Yeeeeaah,” Bruce shouted, patting Steve’s back, the sound echoing off the walls. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Tony handed Steve a beer, which of course, he declined, so Tony had to persist a few more times. Eventually Steve took the beer bottle and raised it. 

“To our next mission.”

”To our next mission!” They

clinked their glasses together.


	2. Step 2: Remember the Objective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those who escape hell  
> however  
> never talk about it  
> and nothing much  
> bothers them  
> after  
> that  
> ~ Charles Bukowski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a few warnings before the chapter, there will be a lot of swearing. This story is different than some of my other’s since it’s an AU about thieves and criminals there is more swearing and sometimes crude comments which will reoccur throughout the book. But I promise there were still be a lot of cute moments scattered throughout it too. Finally, my last warning for this chapter is some violence. Nothing graphic. :) Have fun!

Sitting in a car with Steve Rogers and his buddy Sam Wilson wasn’t that bad. Tony could think of worse people to be trapped in a car with. His ex girlfriend from college would be number one, followed by his father, and then maybe Steve. 

No matter, this was the plan, and they were sticking to it. Besides, at least he wasn’t the one fitting through the tiny air vents. 

Natasha cursed under her breath as she moved through the air duct. They could see her visual surroundings on a laptop, thanks to the little camera that was pinned to her black tank-top. 

“Achoo,” she sneezed for the fifth time, and this time, Steve couldn’t resist laughing into his coffee cup. Sneezes sounded hilarious over the com unit wedged in their ears. 

“Shut up so I can concentrate.” Nat grumbled, her deep sultry voice like sandpaper. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Steve chuckled. “But you seriously sneeze on every mission.”

“Because I’m allergic to dust and you assholes always make me climb in the air ducts.”

“Hey I resent that,” Sam huffed from the backseat, fixing his baseball cap so it covered his pitch black hair. “I ain’t the asshole in this group.”

“That’s because you’re not really a part of this group, are you?” Tony said, eyes never leaving his laptop.

Sam gasped, eyes fake wide and fake hurt. “Wow, and I thought we were just starting to become friends.”

“Oh don’t feel bad,” Steve said, an annoying twinkle in his eye, “Tony doesn’t like people. It’s not you.”

“Actually, it really is you because you’re not a part of this team so...”

“Well excuse me for having a job.”

“Boys, if we could focus, I’m about to reach my destination.” Natasha grumbled. 

“We got eyes on ya, Nat.” Steve assured her, while sipping his coffee. Sam looked down at his watch. 

“So security cameras will be disabled for how long?”

“About twenty minutes.” Tony said. Luckily twenty minutes was all they needed. 

Natasha whipped out her screwdriver and went to work prying off the vent cover as gently and quietly as possible. It swung down with ease, and Nat dropped from the ceiling to the floor. 

She didn’t waste anytime before connecting the flash drive into the computer system.

“Got it,” Tony said, fingers flying as he typed in as many tech codes as possible. He didn’t graduate from MIT for nothing, he just didn’t expect his degree would be used for _this_ type of work. 

“Alright, security cameras are shutting down in five, four, three, two, one.“ The camera lights went dark. 

“It’s go time.” Sam leaped out of the backseat and rushed towards the building, Tony and Steve not far behind. 

“Banner, you in position?” Steve asked, one finger pressed to his ear. 

“Check.” Banner responded. 

“Everybody knows the objective, correct?” Steve asked. 

“Yes.” Five people shouted at once. See, the thing about Steve was he always had to be so organized and professional, he got on people’s nerves. 

“Seriously, guys. Be careful.” 

He especially got on Tony’s nerves considering the two of them were complete polar opposites in every moral way. 

“We’ll be fine,” Nat assured him, “We’ve done this a million times before. Relax.”

They made it up to Strange’s apartment, and while Sam picked the lock, Tony’s eyes drifted over to where he saw the kid the other day. It’s like his brain expected to see the boy again, but he should’ve known that he wasn’t going to be sitting outside his room door at 2 o’clock in the morning. Still, he felt slightly disappointed. 

Sam slid his pocket knife into the lock, and jiggled it around until he felt the tumblers inside click. That was it. They were in. 

“What a mess,” Steve muttered as he looked around. There were pictures on the wall (of Strange himself), shelves filled with books, and little tables with knick-knacks all over them. Wordlessly, the group split up. They knew how to search a room. 

“Dude, I think we finally found someone more vain than Tony.” Sam said, pointing his flashlight at the pictures on the wall.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said. 

Tony worked his way along the left, flipping through books on the shelf. They all seemed real. No fake ones filled with money. Behind a few of the books he saw a safe.

“I found something,” he said, pausing for a moment to dig in his pocket. Cracking a safe was easy, he just needed the right tool.

The safe swung open after a little fiddling. Tony paused, tilting his head, and then smiled when he saw stacks of money along the sides of the safe. 

“Jackpot.” 

He passed Steve and Sam the stacks of money until the safe was empty. That should be enough for a new flatscreen TV.

Suddenly a noise came from behind the closed door at the other end of the room. Tony, Sam, and Steve froze.

“Is it time yet?” Sam whispered quietly to the two more experienced people in the room. 

“No, it isn’t.” Steve frowned, hand carefully reaching into his back pocket for a weapon. 

The door pushed open, and in walked three rough looking dudes with no bark. First of all, there was Ivan Vanko, long messy hair and tats all over, but other than that, the guy was a mumbling scared little mess. Then there was Helmut Zemo, who wasn’t all the scary looking to begin with, but he had a few screws loose and was fueled by anger which in Tony’s mind made him one of the strongest. But lastly, who could forget the real ‘leader’ of the Black Order, Ebony Maw, who wasn’t actually the leader at all, but pretended to be because the real leader was off doing God knows what in some other country. So he left Ebony in charge. It was cute, really. Big Boss leaves little Ebony in charge while he’s away on a business trip; just like a father would leave his eldest in charge of his younger siblings for the weekend. Touching. 

“About time you guys got here.” Steve said, pretending to look at his watch. “I thought we were going to have to do all the work ourselves.”

“What are you doing here?” Ebony growled. His gigantic scar was glowing in the light as he moved closer to Steve.

“Stealing, just like you.”

“No,” Ebony hissed. “You will not do this to us again. This is OUR money, and Stephen Strange is ours to deal with. Go get your revenge on someone else, _Avengers_.”

“Hey, look at that, he remembered our team name.” Sam smirked.

“Funny, I don’t remember you.” 

“Oh come on!” Sam shouted. “I do this part-time, okay?”

“All I know is you weren’t part of the Black Order. _They_ , however, were.” Ebony said, walking closer to Steve and Tony. “Did they forget to tell you that?” 

Sam turned his confused eyes onto Steve, and Steve just gave him a guilty shrug. “It’s a long story.” 

“Yes.” Ebony tapped his fingers together, “It is indeed. But the short version is your friends left The Black Order, an organization which not only trained them to become the best thieves in the world, but also saved them from a miserable life of pain and suffering, and these ungrateful brats decided to runaway and create their own little group called the Avengers because they became obsessed with getting revenge on the people who wronged them.” Ebony rolled his disfigured whitish eyes. “And they have really been screwing the remaining members of the Black Order over because they think WE hurt them.”

“Yeah that’s partly true,” Bruce said through the Coms, “But what Ebony has failed to mention is that most of the members of The Black Order DID hurt us. So we want our revenge on them.”

Sam nodded numbly. Poor guy was probably confused with all the new information being thrown at him. Luckily, he knew where his allegiance lied, and that was with Steve. The guy saved his life once, so he owed him. 

“Ghastly annoying how misguided you fools are,” Ebony said dryly. “We, The Black Order saved you. We introduced you to Doctor Strange and then you turned around and stole him from us.”

“Well we wouldn’t have needed a doctor if it wasn’t for your people attacking us all the time,” Tony muttered under his breath.

“We wouldn’t have attacked you if you didn’t leave us like Strange is trying to do.”

“Oh so Strange is trying to leave your sorry asses?” Tony laughed out loud. “That’s hilarious. Gee, I can’t imagine why. Oh wait, maybe it’s because you’re a bunch of murderous sociopaths diagnosed with textbook narcissism? Could that be why?”

“Careful what you call us, Stark. You worked with us for ten years, and you’re not too far from narcissism yourself.”

“Yeah, agreed. And during that time I worked for you, I was a murderous sociopath. But then I wised up, grew a back bone, and left. Best decision I ever made, by the way.”

“Maybe you have forgotten what we do to people who leave the Black Order.” Ebony snapped his boney little fingers and his two goons pulled out lighters from their pockets and flasks of hardcore whiskey from their other pockets. _Well shit. Look at them trying to burn down the place so soon._

Steve sighed, shaking his head. “You know we can’t let you do that.”

“We did it to you.” Ebony smirked, “And you turned out okay. You’re still on the wrong side, but it taught you a lesson, I’m sure.”

Steve clenched his fists, his veins popping out of his neck. Tony couldn’t blame him. He’d be pissed too if those jackasses burned down his home the way they did Steve’s.

“This freak with the scar burned down your house?” Sam’s forehead creased, “That’s just fucked up man.”

“This freak with the scar’s name is Ebony Maw, and he’s done a lot worse than burn down my house.”

“You can say that again.” Banner growled. 

Oh boy. Tony could hear it in his voice, the rage and intensity in his tone. Bruce’s anger was about to take over. Time to speed things up.

“Keep your cool, big guy. We’re not ready yet.” Nat whispered harshly through the coms, but it was too late. Bruce was too provoked. 

Tony waited for the disaster to unfold. He didn’t have to wait long. Bruce barreled out of his hiding spot a moment later and began firing his gun wildly. Zemo dropped hard, clutching his shoulder, from the looks of it, his leg was hit as well. 

Bruce was a lousy shot to begin with, but when he was fueled by rage, he couldn’t hit a target two feet in front of him. That’s the only reason Zemo was still alive. 

The other two members of the Black Order whipped out their weapons, and began firing just as fast. 

“Bruce, damn it, we said not yet!” Steve shouted, while leaping to take cover under a living room table. “The agents aren’t in position.”

Gunshots were firing every other second with practically no pause in between. So much for being quiet, Tony thought miserably as he pressed his head against the bookcase he was hiding behind. 

The poor people in this apartment building were probably scared shitless. 

“Grab what you can!” Ebony screamed at his remaining man while he paused to reload. They were going to try to make a quick steal, grab Strange’s most precious valuables and get the hell out. 

“We have to stall them!” Steve yelled, wincing as he saw Bruce collapse to the floor. 

“Banner! Are you okay?!” 

A bullet buzzed past Steve’s head, just missing him. He gasped, ducking himself further behind the table. Chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to suck in a breath. 

Now Tony was pissed. Steve Rogers might be an annoying asshole, but he was Tony’s annoying asshole and nobody was allowed to scare him like that. 

Whipping his arm out from his hiding spot, Tony fired three bullets in quick succession but they were sloppy. He couldn’t even see where he was aiming. 

When he peaked his head out, he noticed one of the bullets he fired hit the flask, and alcohol began drizzling over the floor. 

“Shit. If they drop that match this place is going to burn.” 

“Can you get a good shot?” Steve screamed over the loud ear splitting gunfire. 

Tony didn’t have time to answer before the apartment door banged open and a group of seven heavily armed CIA agents entered and fanned out around the premise. 

Tony recognized the leader of this group, Nick Fury, in a heartbeat. He was the first one to enter and the first one to shout, “CIA Agents, drop your weapons.” 

“This isn’t over, gentlemen.” Ebony Maw snarled, giving them a twisted smile as he flicked the cigarette lighter open. 

“Watch out!” Steve screamed, “This place is gonna blow!”

Exactly as expected, Ebony dropped the lighter and flames spiked just as the CIA agents started shooting. Alcohol mixed with the gunfire and lighter fluid was enough to paint the floor in a torrent line of flames. 

Ebony was gone behind the smokescreen he created, like Harry Houdini, he disappeared without a trace. Ivan, however, was not so lucky. The CIA cuffed him and carried him and an injured Zemo out as well. 

Now that the coast was clear, Tony and Steve pealed away from their hiding places. More objects and furnishings were igniting with flames by the second. 

“See if there’s a fire extinguisher in the hallway.” Steve shouted at one of the CIA agents. 

“You heard the man, go!” Tony yelled above the flames. He was busy lifting up Bruce from the place where he collapsed after taking a bullet to the arm.

Steve took off his shirt. 

“Of all the times for you to being showing off your washboard abs, now is not one of them.”

“I’m trying to suffocate the flames. You need to get out of here, Tony.” Steve yelled. He threw his shirt over the burning cabinets, trying to smother them. It was a futile attempt. The only thing stopping that fire from burning down the whole room was going to be a fire extinguisher.

“We gotta get outta here.” Tony yelled, the heat and smoke rising to unbearable levels. Fire alarms were blaring outside the room, alerting the rest of the building’s residents to get out. Why couldn’t Steve listen? He was the king of following orders, this should be easy for him. “Let’s go, solider boy. We need to move.”

“You go. I have to put this out.”

“Leave it to the firemen. Come on.” Tony coughed. The room was filling with thick black smoke. He could hardly see Steve. He could, however, hear other people screaming and running through the hall, as they all tried to make their escape at once.

“I need to try.”

It was getting harder to breathe. Each time he inhaled there was less oxygen and more smoke. His vision was starting to blur. 

Of all the times Tony imagined what his death might be like, the notion of perishing in a fire because his friend was too stubborn to escape never crossed his mind. 

Two agents suddenly rushed back into the room with a fire extinguisher. _Took them long enough,_ Tony thought bitterly _._ The agent pulled the fire extinguisher’s pin, aimed the nozzle, and squeezed the handle. White smoke looking foam swept across the base of the fire, killing the flames slowly. 

As the fire died, the agents moved in closer, while Tony and Steve stumbled out of the burning room with Bruce’s arm’s slung over each of their shoulders. Probably not the best idea since one of Bruce’s arms was bleeding a ton, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

They stopped abruptly when they ran into Nick Fury. 

Both Tony and Steve hunched over and coughed until their throats felt like someone rubbed sandpaper all over it. 

When they stood up straight, Fury was staring them down. The soft glow of the fire illuminated his scowling face, and Fury could have been mistaken for the king of Hell in that very moment. 

“You gentlemen have a lot of explaining to do.” 

“Yeah,” Steve coughed into his sleeve. “We know.”

Time flew by after that. The CIA agents arrested Ivan. Zemo and Bruce were taken away on a stretcher when the medics arrived and the rest of the group relocated to the front of the building where the ambulances were parked. 

Tony and Steve both sat in the back of an ambulance sucking oxygen from a mask while they watched the crowd slowly stumble back into the crap building where they lived. 

Some women were crying. Some men where bitching. But most people were just tired, as if this type of thing happened too often in their lives for them to care. 

Natasha and Sam met up with them by the ambulance and they teased for a while. The whole time, Nat was in contact with Bruce. He needed surgery for his arm, but he was conscious and doing well. He was going to be released early tomorrow morning. 

“I can’t believe you just ran out the door and left us!” Steve mused, bumping Sam’s elbow with his. 

“I wasn’t gonna be dyin’ for no part-time job.” 

Tony laughed, then out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar old man with a receding hairline. He was standing next to a young black girl, and they were both scowling, eyes searching around for something. Funny, Tony didn’t see the brown-haired boy anywhere. 

“You gentlemen suffered a few burns, but it’s nothing major,” The doctor said as he returned to the ambulance. “I’m more concerned about your swollen airways.”

“It’s nothing a few beers can’t fix.” Tony wheezed and Nat slapped his head. 

Despite the sound head slapping he received, Tony still took his team out to a bar on Eastwood where he met with Happy and Clint. 

Nick Fury joined the party as well though his participation was less of a social call and more of a business thing.

The music in the bar was loud, but the Avengers were huddled in the back where the music was quieter. They needed quieter after their earlier ordeal. 

The waitress handed them menus and then pulled out a white notepad. “What will you be drinking this evening?” She asked. 

“Give me a scotch, I’m starving.” Tony smiled, “And bring back a couple of pitchers of beer for my friends here.” He said, tipping her with a nice ball of cash. 

Nick Fury glared at him. Tony could feel a lecture coming from a mile away which is why he began fidgeting. “Oh, and can we get some water too? Hydration is key.” He called to the waitress. 

“Of course,” the waitress smiled then moved over to Nat’s table. 

Tony picked up the menu and scanned it before glancing back at Fury’s glowering face. “Careful or your face might freeze like that.”

“You got some nerve, Stark.”

“What? You don’t like bars? Come on. What’s not to like?”

“Where did you get all this money?” Fury asked, shifting forward in his seat, enough to invade Tony’s space. 

“Money? What money?”

Fury slapped his hand over Tony’s chest pocket and yanked out a stack of cash.

“Oh that money!”

“Yeah that money. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh you know, working for you of course:”

“That’s cute. But I know for a fact we don’t pay you that much. So try again.” 

“I have some left over cash from my family inheritance?” 

“That better be all it is, because we had a deal.”

“Yeah I know.”

“You and your team help me bring down an Organized Crime group like the Black Order, and in return I won’t arrest your sorry asses for the years you spent in that Organization.”

“We did exactly as you said, man. The mission ran smoothly, despite _themildfire_ , AND we caught two members of the Black Order. So that’s a win.”

“Right. But in the meantime, you aren’t supposed to steal anymore. Your skills are to be used solely to help the CIA.”

“And that’s exactly what we’re doing.” Tony said, devil-wide-grin plastered to his face. 

“Nuh, uh, uh, don’t play dumb with me, Stark. I know everything. Okay? I know what you and your buddies do. You steal from the people that stole something from you. Isn’t that right? You, what do you call it? _Avenge_ yourselves? 

Tony looked at his menu again, refusing to answer. 

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” Fury shifted in his seat and grabbed a menu as well. “Tonight you stole Strange’s money from his safe. That’s what you got in your pocket right now. I know it is, so don’t lie to me.”

“Okay look. Strange was a personal case. The guy purposefully screwed up Clint’s pain pills. He tried to put him in a coma. We were just getting a little amount of revenge on him. At least we weren’t trying to kill him like The Black Order was. Those assholes were there to burn down his apartment.”

“Getting a little revenge isn’t what you guys are supposed to do. It’s not part of the deal.”

“No, but he went after one of our own. We had to do something.”

“No, Tony. That’s where you’re wrong. You don’t have to do anything. This whole obsession with revenge is extremely unhealthy.”

“So we’ll eat protein bars after. Look, Fury. The few of us the left the Black Order have been screwed over so many times, we _need_ our revenge.”

“You cannot continue to steal on your own, or I will be forced to bring you in. Do you understand?” 

“Oh come on. We only steal shit from people that have done ten times worse things to us. The fucking Black Order are the ones that go and burn down buildings. All we do is steal.”

“It’s still a crime, Tony. And I have a job to do. You’re lucky I was able to cut you this deal. Please don’t make me regret it.”

“We gave you two members of the Black Order today on a silver plate, and we’re going to keep delivering so just relax.”

“Good cause I got another mission for you.”

Tony smirked. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Avengers Assemble.”

“Hey.” Steve whined, “I say that.”

“Sorry, would you like to say it?” 

“Well not anymore.”

“Go on. Say it.”

“No. Everyone already heard you.”

“Just say it, would ya?”

Fury slammed his hand against the table. “Both of you, shut up. Your giving me a headache.”

Fury rolled his eyes, and Nat patted his shoulder. “You should try living with them.”

Fury gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am so sorry. If you need a new place, give me a call.” He slipped her his card much to Tony and Steve’s dismay. 

“Alright, listen up, I have new assignment for you.”

“Aw come on, Fury. Let us celebrate this one first.” Clint muttered, sipping his beer.

Fury chose to ignore him. “I got word that a valuable and dangerous weapon is entering the county tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow?” Nat tilted her head back and downed the rest of her drink. “That’s a little soon.”

That was a little soon. Usually Fury gave them a week or so to prepare. He must be more confident in their abilities. That, or this mission was really serious. 

“The Black Order is highly likely to try and steal this weapon, but you cannot let them succeed. I want you to steal it first, and keep it safely hidden in your Garage until I can retrieve it personally. Do not leave it with any of my Agents.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t trust some of them.”

That’s right. Tony totally forgot, but a few weeks ago, Fury told them he thought he had a mole within his agency. Someone was giving out valuable information and secrets, allowing criminals to get the upper-hand. 

“But you trust us? A gang of thieves?”

“Believe it or not, yes. I do. Because I think you have the common sense to stay out of prison. Because you know damn well if that weapon goes missing, I’m taking every single one of you down.”

“Easy Fury. We get it. The weapon will be secured and stowed away in our safe house.” Nat held up her hand in a silent promise. 

“Excellent. Now there is one other thing.”

“You want us to capture more members of the Black Order, we know.”

“Nah, that’s not it.” Fury scrubbed a hand over his face, touching his eye-patch. “Aw hell, I’m just going to say it. Natasha, your old headmistress is in town. I have word that she is also going to be trying to steal the bioweapon.”

Nat’s face went blank. She often disconnected herself from the world whenever her past is brought up. Tony assumes he does the same thing, though he can’t be sure since he never can see his own face.

“Wait, it’s a bio weapon?” Clint asked to which Fury nodded. “Holy shit. That changes some things.”

“Now I’m warning you, Ms. Romanoff. Do not seek revenge on this woman. I know you hate her, but if you pull another stunt like what you did to Steve’s old enemy, then my hands will be tied. Do you understand?”

She nodded slowly, eyes still blank.

“Damn Fury. You’re really killing the party vibe with all these threats.” Sam muttered.

“All due respect, Agent Fury, but that guy had it coming.” Steve said. “Johann Schmidt used to beat me for eating out of his dumpster. I mean, he literally wanted to watch me starve to death on the streets.”

“Still. You know our deal. I can’t help you if you hurt other people.”

“We don’t hurt other people,” Steve mumbled. “We steal from those who stole something from us. In my case, Schmidt stole my ability to get food. So we simply broke his refrigerator and destroyed his restaurant.”

“Yeah, after you tied him up and tossed him in a dumpster.”

The group snickered at the memory.

“Oh it wasn’t that bad.” Clint laughed into his drink.

“Yeah well, you pull another stunt like that and the only thing you’ll be stealing is more soap in the prison showers.”

“Oh, wow Fury.” Steve winced.

“Did he just go there?” Nat quirked an eyebrow.

“I think he was trying to go there, but he missed the mark by a lot.”

“Definitely took a wrong turn.”

“Missed that final destination big time.”

Fury shot out of his seat. “I can’t be around you anymore or I’m gonna lose my mind. I’ll email you a briefing on the mission. But it’s tomorrow afternoon, got it?”

The group agreed simultaneously. Tomorrow it was then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry there wasn’t much Peter in this chapter. I promise he’s coming up. This was a small set-up for everything, but I had to give you some background. So now you know a lot more about The Avengers and The Black Order. 
> 
> Let me know if you have any questions. For once, I’m actually writing a story with a huge plot so that means there might be a lot of questions so let me know!!! :)


	3. Step 3: P⃫l⃫a⃫n⃫ When Plan’s Go Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have been one acquainted with the night.  
> I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.  
> I have outwalked the furthest city light.
> 
> I have looked down the saddest city lane.  
> I have passed by the watchman on his beat  
> And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
> 
> I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet  
> When far away an interrupted cry  
> Came over houses from another street,
> 
> But not to call me back or say good-bye;  
> And further still at an unearthly height,  
> One luminary clock against the sky
> 
> Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right  
> I have been one acquainted with the night.   
>  ~ Robert Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Fighting, violence, and swearing (as you will see in the first sentence.) I would say I tried to write this like an attack scene you would see in any of the Marvel movies, so nothing too bad but you know, kicks and punches and some blood.

Tony fucked himself, and not in the good way. But metaphorically speaking, he was fucked. 

One minute he was crouched down, taking stock of his surroundings and the next he was being attacked by two members of the Black Order. 

Tony was supposed to signal to the rest of the Avengers when it was clear to enter the aquatic facility but the Black Order snuck up behind him, and successful whacked him in the back of his head before he could give the signal. 

Tony heard the crack before he felt it. For a few minutes he was blinded. Reeling backwards, he crashing onto the grass. His position was high above the facility, on a grassy hill. But obviously he wasn’t very hidden or secure because the Black Order found him.

With a sudden shout, the attacker lashed out with his right hand cutting towards Tony’s throat. If the blow had made contact, Tony would have been as good as dead. But at the last second, he threw up his fists, crossing his arms and blocking the attack. A little old fashion karate was good to know at times like these.

The attacker stumbled back, and Tony aimed a kick at his groin but the other member enveloped Tony in a choke hold. Normally, Tony wouldn’t stoop to such a low blow, but he wasn’t particularly a fan of being jumped from behind by two men. Trapped by his assailant, Tony panted heavily trying to think of a way out. 

“Stark? What’s going on out there?” Clint asked over the coms that were connected in his earwig. 

“The facility is not clear.” Tony grunted as he took a punch to the gut. “I repeat, the facility is not clear.”

The other attacker delivered some sharp blows to his stomach and Tony struggled as hard as he could to free himself.

“Are you okay?” Steve’s voice was so loud. “Bruce, go help him.”

“No. I got it.” Tony groaned as a particularly rough punch landed against his cheek. 

“Who are you talking to,” his attacker hissed. “Your pathetic excuse for a team? Or the CIA?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Tony stepped on his assailant’s foot and elbowed his ribs at the exact same time, proceeding to flip him over his shoulder and upper back. Once free, Tony threw himself head-first into the other attacker’s stomach and unfortunately went tumbling down the hill with him. 

“Nat’s old academy teacher just exited the facility. She has the bio-weapon.” Bruce informed the team. 

“Okay,” Steve said, “Let’s go secure the weapon before the Black Order steals it. And Nat, whatever you do, **do not** engage with your former teacher.”

“Bitch is gonna pay.” Natasha growled through the coms before her signal went dead. 

“No! Nat wait! Shit.”

Tony really should have predicted this. They all should have. After all, that’s what the Avengers were about: getting revenge. They couldn’t expect Natasha to sit back when she had the opportunity to come face to face with her childhood tormentor. Hell, if Tony had the chance to meet his ruthless, bloodthirsty enemy face-to-face nothing in the world would stop him from enacting his revenge. Nothing. 

“Someone stop her!” Steve screamed, “She’s going to blow our mission! We won’t be able to steal the briefcase if Madame B is onto us.”

Tony scrambled to his feet and began to run. Not only was he trying to get to the facility, but he needed to lose the two Black Order members that were also jumping to their feet. 

Choking on air, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, Tony ran blindly, trying to find his way back to the main path, but he had no idea where he was going. 

“I got Natasha!” Clint shouted. 

“Someone swipe the case before it’s too late.” Steve ordered. 

Tony could hear the footsteps coming up fast behind him. Still running, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the one guy getting too close for comfort. He could almost knock Tony to the ground he was that close. Tony tried to pump his legs faster. _Go go go._

“The case is secure.” Bruce said but then a loud painful static cut through the coms and Bruce was cursing. “The Black Order just stole the case.”

“Bruce, what the fuck!?” Steve screamed. “You were supposed to prevent that from happening.”

“He came out of nowhere, man. Just swiped it outta my hands.”

“I need help holding Nat.” Clint shouted.

Tony’s lungs burned. If he somehow managed to survive the Black Order, he was going to die from cardiac arrest. A few more feet and he realized he was about to reach the end of the field. Fuck. There was a warning sign and an electric fence stretching as far as he could see. 

“I got the case!” Steve shouted through the coms.

“Nat took off. Looks like she’s headed for Madame B.”

“Let her get her revenge.” Steve mumbled, “We got the case, that’s all that matters.”

The fence was twenty yards away, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen...Tony needed to find a way out of this before it got really serious.

“HEY!” Steve screamed. “Sonuvabitch! The briefcase is empty.”

“Steve, I see another briefcase. Some kid is running with it!” Clint shouted. 

“A kid?” 

“Yeah... holy shit. He’s headed for an electric fence.”

“So am I!” Tony shrieked. He was too close. He was going to hit it. At the last minute, Tony dove sharply to one side, face diving into the grass, and tumbling a little. It was too late for the men following directly behind him. They ran straight into the fence, bodies jolting before they fell onto the grass, lying still. 

Tony sat up with a groan, and grabbed his nose which was gushing blood. He could feel the warm liquid trickling down to his mouth. His legs felt like jelly, and head was spinning. This was a bad run. 

Tony laid in the grass, looking up at the sweltering hot sun. Death take him now. He was going to be sick, that is, if his heart rate ever slowed down enough for him to vomit.

There was movement behind him suddenly. Someone whipped through the grass in a blur, carrying a grey suitcase, and shit. Tony probably should have tried to stop him. 

He did try to stand on painful legs, but there was no way he could catch the thief. Luckily, the electric fence made it difficult for the thief to escape, and even more luck, Clint and Steve were barreling down the field too. At least they could catch him. 

Then again, they were pretty far back. Tony watched as the figure followed the fence to the main path. He was almost home free. 

“Come on! The bio weapon is getting away!” Tony scolded as Steve and Clint approached. 

“He had a huge head start on us, Tony. Besides, I don’t see you running.” Steve panted. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just ran a damn marathon.” 

“He’s gone. Forget it. We lost.” Clint muttered, slowing to a stop, and doubling over to catch his breath. 

“We can’t just give up.” Classic Steve Roger’s motivational advice. 

“He’s already on the main path. He’ll be long gone by the time we get there.” Tony said. He did his best to hobble over to where his team was even though he felt terrible.

“Wait? Do you see that?” Steve pointed to the main path where a group of people stood. They were circling around the young thief. One big guy knocked the kid onto the cold cobblestone ground with a heavy punch.

“The Black Order. Come on. We need to stop them.” Steve yelled. 

Tony groaned. He already got his cardio in for the day. But apparently it wasn’t enough because there he was, running again, full-speed towards the group of three goons and one little thief. 

“Don’t let them get that case.” Bruce said through the coms. 

“Where the hell are you?” Clint shouted back. “We could use your help. There’s three of them.”

“I’m making sure Nat doesn’t kill anyone.”

Tony’s mind registered that Trevor Slattery, Aldrich Killian, and Kurt Conners were the three men attacking the thief. He watched as they stomped towards the person they knocked down, and crowded in on him. Tony squinted to see who it was, and after a few more steps, he got a better view. 

Killian reached the thief and lifted him by the collar of his shirt and that’s when Tony recognized the face. It was that kid from the apartment. 

But what was he doing out here?

His face was all beaten: black and blue bruises and a split lip. Tony knew without a doubt that those bruises weren’t all from the current beating the kid was getting, but rather, they were old bruises. 

“Please,” The boy practically begged, “Just let me explain.”

Killian glared at the boy with pure hatred in his eyes. He raised the kid up in the air by the neck, and watched as the color in his face turned red as he struggled the breathe. 

“Hey!” Steve shrieked, moving even faster, trying to get to the scene before Killian choked the boy to death. 

All at once, Tony, Clint, and Steve ambushed the group. Tony grabbed Conners from behind and held him in a choke hold as he struggled. Clint did the same to Slattery. 

Steve tightened his fists. “Let the kid go, Killian.”

“Funny seeing you here, Rogers. Could have sworn this aquatic facility was empty.”

“Drop the kid, and we’ll talk about who takes the bioweapon.”

“I’m taking the weapon. Ebony has strict orders for us to get this.” Killian growled. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he does.”Tony grunted. He was struggling to hold the man in his arms, especially after the marathon he just ran. 

Steve walked closer, until he was only a few inches from Killian and the boy. 

“This little runt stole our weapon and he’s going to pay.” Killian said, squeezing the kid’s neck even tighter. The boy’s face was turning an ugly purple. Tony couldn’t watch and Steve couldn’t wait any longer. He punched Killian in the gut. Punched him so hard he released his grip on the kid and doubled over in pain. 

The boy fell to the ground in a heap, and laid curled on then cobblestone with the briefcase clutched in his arms. 

“That’s the last fucking straw, Rogers.” Killian growled, and just like that, he was wailing on Steve.

Punching his neck with his knuckles, smacking his face and pushing it backwards so it was leaning back while he abused Steve’s Adam’s apple. Steve decided it was time to use those good old legs of his and he kicked Killian hard in the kneecap; satisfied at the nice crunching sound he heard. 

Killian landed a good heavy punch to the side of Steve’s jaw next, but Steve retaliated with an even worse punch to the eye.

Meanwhile, Tony was working on slowly choking Conners until he passed out. Once that was taken care of, he went over to help Clint knock out his guy. 

When he looked back at Steve, he had Killian pinned to the ground, sitting on his chest with his knees. 

“Clint, tie him up to that tree, would ya?”

Steve stood as Clint dragged a badly beaten Killian over to a tree. The CIA could pick them up when they were good and ready. The Black Order goons weren’t going anywhere.

Brushing his hands together, Steve stumbled over to Tony and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Ahh.” Tony hissed, moving away from the hand. 

“You alright?” 

“I’ll live.” He said, working out the kinks in his shoulder. 

They both turned to stare at the kid behind them at practically the same time. He was scooting himself against the brick wall, probably afraid someone was going to hit him again, and he didn’t know who to trust. 

Steve and Tony looked at one another silently, as if asking “what do we do with him?” 

Steve shrugged his shoulders, then walked up to the kid slowly, before crouching down to his level. Tony did the same. 

The kid’s dark eyes were darting between both men so frantically Tony was afraid he was going to have whiplash. 

“Hey,” Steve said softly, not wanting to frighten the boy. “What’s your name?” 

“Peter.” The kid whispered just as softly. And holy shit. He could speak. Tony was almost certain he was a mute until that very moment.

“Hey Peter. You wanna tell me why you were trying to steal that bioweapon?”

The kid’s eyes went comically wide. “It’s - it’s a weapon? I didn’t know it was - I thought it was money.”

“Why were you trying to steal money?” Tony asked rather harshly. This stupid kid could have gotten himself killed and he didn’t even know what he was stealing. 

“Cause I need money.” 

“You don’t say?” Tony mocked, “Okay, Einstein, let me rephrase. Why do you need money?” 

Peter’s jaw tightened, and he immediately grew defensive. “I dunno. Why do you need a bioweapon?” 

“Touché.” Bruce said over the coms. 

That little smart ass kid has a mouth on him. Tony did not find it the least bit amusing, but Steve was struggling to hold back his laughter. 

“It’s none of your business.” Tony replied to which the boy nodded. 

“And it’s none of your business why I need money.” He shot back. 

Steve took a good look at the kid, a small smile gracing his lips. “Peter, how old are you?”

“How old are you?” The kid asked. Yeah, he was definitely playing the defensive card now. 

“Thirty-nine.” Steve said without hesitation. “This is Tony. He’s forty-two.”

“I’m sixteen.” Peter finally admitted. 

“Okay. So sixteen-year old kid who needs money. You got some nice shiners on your face and you look like you could use a bath. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you need the money because you’re a runaway. Am I right?” Steve asked. 

Peter bit his lip and blinked quickly, looking away from them and over at the aquatic facility. When he looked back at them, he was fuming. 

“And let me guess. You two are professional thieves? Maybe even professional criminals. I saw you casing that apartment room, and then the next night it burned down. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. And now you’re stealing bioweapons? I’m sure the police would love to hear about this.”

“Hey.” Steve pointed a warning finger in his face. “Watch it, kid. Don’t threaten us.”

“Then don’t threaten me.” Peter was trying to sound tough, but Tony was a pro at masking his emotions, and he could tell when someone else was trying to do the same. 

“No one’s threatening you.” Tony said, a little softer now that he was sure the kid was scared and not just a smart ass. 

“Just let me go.” Peter pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone. Please, I promise. Just please, whatever you do, don’t tell anyone I’m running away, _please_!” 

Steve bit his lip, and looked at Tony for answers. Hell if he knew. 

Bruce and Natasha finally showed up a minute later. They both looked like crap. Obviously, Nat succeeded at getting her revenge but not without some repercussions. She could hardly see her eyes were so swollen.

“What’s going on?” She asked, limping over to the group. 

“We have a slight problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! I feel cruel ending it with a small cliff hanger like that, and I know I shouldn’t do this because I need time to write. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 if you want, I can post the next chapter today. It has more Peter in it, at least a little. So let me know :)


	4. Step 4: Consider All Your Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to sleep  
> when your heart  
> is at war with  
> your mind.   
>  ~ r.h. Sin.

“We can’t keep him with us!” Clint shouted, slamming his bag of arrows against the small wooden table. Clint liked to use old fashioned arrows when fighting. He said it made him feel more like Robin Hood, and since the work the Avengers did was similar to Robin Hood, Clint claimed it fit well with their image. 

Tony couldn’t care less about his image, or the teams image for that matter. It wasn’t important to him. But everyone was different, he supposed. 

They were back at the garage, with Peter sitting on the couch in the other room which they considered the “living room” - actually it was just one section of the three-car garage but they considered each section a room. See, each section was divided by a cement wall with an open doorway between them. The Avengers considered the farthest section of the garage the living room because - well - there was no real reason as to _why,_ but they placed the couch and TV in that room so it officially became the living-room. 

The Avengers were currently gathered in the second section of the garage, better known as, the kitchen while they nursed their wounds. 

“Well we can’t exactly let him go, either.” Steve said to Clint who was insistent upon getting rid of Peter as if he were a bad drug. “He knows too much.”

Leaning into the refrigerator, Nat grabbed herself a beer. “He doesn’t know that much.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Bruce exclaimed, “He saw us try to steal the Bioweapon, he could easily turn us into the cops. And I am **not** going back to jail.” 

Tony shook his head, pressing his hands into his eyes. They burned from a lack of sleep, but he still felt the adrenaline in his system. His body was primed for another attack even now that the danger was gone.“He won’t do that.” 

Clint raised his eyebrows. “What makes you so sure?”

“Cause he’s a sixteen-year-old runaway.” Tony said, sipping his beer. It didn’t take the pain away, but it tasted refreshing nonetheless. 

“So? Running away from home makes him more desperate. More reason to give us up to the police.” Bruce argued. 

“No. It makes him scared to go to any authority figure, cause he knows damn well they will send his ass back home.” 

“What makes you think he ran away?” Clint asked and Nat rolled her eyes. 

“Come on, it’s kinda obvious. He needs money, doesn’t want us to call social services? Sounds like a runaway to me.”

“Plus he didn’t deny it when Tony and I confronted him about it.” Steve said.

Bruce shifted in his chair. “I still think he will call the cops on us.”

“We’re doing what a CIA agent asked us to do. We can’t get arrested for that.” Natasha said, but Steve shut her down fast. 

“You better believe we could be arrested. Each of us have a criminal history, plus, the regular NYPD has no idea about our deal with Agent Fury. Our best bet is to avoid the police at all costs.”

“Thank you!” Bruce leaned back in his chair and dabbed his bloody bandage with a paper towel. 

Tony unzipped his leather jacket, and unlaced his shoes, dropping both to the floor. It’s been months since the Avengers all sat around this table together. Most of the time, they were off doing their own thing. Moments like these were rare, and Tony always cherished them. He just wished the social gathering was under better circumstances. 

There was blood under his nails, dirt and grass smudged across his face. God only knows how horrible he probably smelled. There wasn’t enough soap or hot water in the world to clean him off after the marathon he just ran.

And the kid...

Tony’s eyes drifted to the boy. He was sitting on the couch, looking at his hands. His stringy brown hair was just long enough to cover his eyes, but Peter ran a hand through it, pushing it away from his face, making himself look so young. Strangely enough, he wasn’t trying to run right now. Tony found that interesting. He found everything about this kid interesting. Also vaguely familiar...

“Okay great.” Clint’s voice pulled Tony out of his thoughts. “So he’s a runaway that may or may not call the cops on us. Great. I say we get rid of his ass.” 

“Whoa, hold on.” Steve whisper-shouted. “We can’t just send him back out there. The Black Order might try to clobber him again.”

Bruce, in his new red arm brace, shook his head. “They only attacked him because they thought he had the bioweapon.”

“Which he did.” Nat deadpanned. 

“They might think he’s working for us now for all we know.” Steve said. 

“So what if they do?” Clint quirked an eyebrow. “Look. I’m sorry, but that kid is not our problem to deal with. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“But he still knows too much.” Steve emphasized with his hands. “He could tell

The Black Order where we live if they somehow got their hands on him again.”

“Shit. I never even thought about that.” Nat muttered into her beer. 

“I need a smoke.” Bruce said, getting up and wandering into the corner of the garage. 

“Damn.” Clint looked at his arrows mournfully. “I guess we only have one option. The question is, who wants to do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know...” he pretended to pull an arrow back and shoot it at Natasha’s heart. 

A group of unblinking eyes stared at Clint, stuck halfway between disgust and horror. 

“Clint!?” 

“Oh my God.”

“What the fuck, dude?!”

Clint raised his hands in defense, his voice raising in pitch as well, “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“We’re not killing him!” Steve fumed, turning his back to the group. He couldn’t even look at them after that comment. Nat put her palms to her forehead. 

“Well we sure as fuck can’t let him go out there by himself, and risk the Black Order figuring out where we live, or worse, using the boy as bait.”

“Or torturing him.” 

“I told you we should have left him at the aquatic facility.” Tony grumbled.

“And I told you, the Black Order would have just taken Peter back to their place and brainwashed him like they did with us. Do you really want them to gain another member?” Steve was getting too close to Tony’s personal space. He liked to make his dominance known, or some weird shit like that. It made Tony’s blood boil, but he couldn’t deny Steve’s point. 

As much as he absolutely hated to admit it, they were all, at one point, in Peter’s position. When they were at their most vulnerable or most broken state of mind, that’s when the Black Order recruited them. So it would make sense for them to recruit an impressionable runaway. 

“Then what are we going to do?” Clint asked. His voice was low and sullen, a raw edge to it. He wasn’t happy about this predicament. _Join the club_ , Tony wanted to say. 

With hesitance, Bruce walked back the the table and sat down. “I hate to say it, but I think we need to call social services, and send him home.”

Tony stared blankly at the table. Send the kid home? What home? Do they mean send him back to that shitty apartment? Back to that asshole of a man? Back to that place he ran away from? Sending Peter “home” wasn’t going to solve anything. He would be back on the streets in less than a week. Because if the kid was determined to run away then that’s what was going to happen. No, there had to be a better option.

“Or,” Steve said, as if reading Tony’s mind. “We could let him stay here with us, and train him to be an Avenger rather than a member of the Black Order.”

Okay, no. That was **not** a better solution. That might actually be worse.

“Why does he have to be wrapped up in our feud?” Nat posed a great question. 

“Because like Clint said, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and like it or not the kid is in this now.” Steve answered for everybody, but Tony wasn’t too thrilled with the response. 

“He doesn’t have to be.” Bruce reminded them. “We can send him home. Get him out of this now.”

Tony liked that idea better the second time. Getting the kid out of this was a good idea, not dragging him down with them. Tony knew a long time ago that choosing this path wasn’t going to end well for him, and he was at peace with that. But for this to end badly for the kid? Tony most certainly would not be at peace with that. 

“Hey, sorry. This is a side note, but did anyone contact Fury about the bioweapon?” Clint asked. 

“I did.” Steve said as he stood up and started pacing. “He told us to keep it here. Fury will be here in a few weeks to collect.”

“Why is Fury taking so long?” Nat rested her elbows on the table and placed her chin in her hands. 

“He’s on another mission outside of the county. He’ll be back in a few weeks.” Steve replied, not pausing in his pacing. 

“Oh. That actually makes sense.”

“What’s an old academy teacher doing with a bunch of Anthrax anyways?” Bruce wondered out loud. “Why was she involved with something like this?”

“Beats me. She was always involved in some shady business deals.”

Tony glanced towards the doorway, and his mind short-circuited. The kid was nowhere in sight. He knew Peter might try to run. 

“Guys, the kid’s gone.”

Everyone in the room snapped their necks to the doorway in stunned silence. A moment later, they were racing into the living room like a giant herd. 

They startled Peter, who was admiring a few of the cars in the corner of the room. Actually, he looked like he was _searching_ for something before he froze like a statue, turning to them with a terrified expression, which faltered into a nervous smile. “H-Hey everybody.” And then, his smile grew more confident. “Is the family meeting over with already”

Clint snorted. “Wise guy.”

“No. Actually we’re not done discussing this.” Steve replied, shortly. “We haven’t decided if we’re calling social services or not, so please, sit your ass on the couch and don’t move.”

“Oh come on,” Peter whined, “Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about you.”

“Oh yeah? Where you gonna go?” Nat asked him flatly. 

Peter shrugged, “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

So much for getting the kid to open-up. Though Tony can’t blame him. He wasn’t one to talk about personal matters either.

“Look, just sit down and let us figure this out, alright?”

“Don’t call social services. I can’t go back in the system again. Look. I understand if you don’t want me around. I promise I’ll stay away from you and that aquatic facility, okay? I’ll find money someplace else. Just send me on my way.”

“The system? What are you talking about?” Tony asked before he could stop himself. 

“Oh. Right, you didn’t need to know that. Forget I said anything.” Peter chuckled lightly. 

“Oh no. You’re gonna answer our questions, kid,” Steve gestured for Peter to sit on the couch. The kid rolled his eyes but sat down nonetheless. 

“Okay, so I’m a foster kid. I’ve been in the foster system my whole life.” Peter said, and there was an innocence to his voice that Tony hadn’t picked-up on before. It was soft, almost light and airy. Definitely not deep, but the voice of a young teen boy all the same. 

“So that old man I saw at your apartment... he was, what? Your adopted grandfather.”

Peter snorted, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Toomes? No, he’s my current foster parent.” 

“A real great one from the looks of it.” Tony pointed out. 

“Oh yeah. He’s great. You know something? I always wanted a father who would teach me how to swing a golf club, and now I got one that swings the club at me. So, it’s really a win-win, you know? It can’t get any better than Adrian Toomes.”

Steve inhaled uneasily. Tony could see the discomfort on his face. “Okay. Just stay here. We’ll talk, and we’ll let you know what we think would be best for you.”

Peter sucked in a breath and sat back on the couch. And it bothered Tony how Peter wasn’t trying to leave. He didn’t have to sit there and wait for the Avengers to come to a verdict. If Tony were Peter, he would have held up the middle finger and told them: “I’m the only one that knows what’s best for me.” And then he would have left. 

But not Peter. He was doing exactly as they said, and that right there, was a red flag. Tony was the last to leave the room, keeping his eyes on Peter as long as possible. 

The rest of the Avengers quietly piled into the kitchen, standing in defensive stances. Tony scanned over all of them. It’s like they were all in deep thought.

“So are we going to vote, or just stand around looking stupid?” 

“I had no idea he was being abused at home.” Bruce said quietly. “This changes my perception of things. I honestly think the best thing we can do is keep him with us.”

“I agree.” Steve said. 

Clint crossed his arms. “Personally, I remain with my pervious statement. He’s not our problem. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he should go back home. I’m sorry about his foster parent. But the best we can do is try to convince social services to place him in a better home.”

They paused, the room grew quiet. Natasha placed an ice pack on her cheek. Bruce checked the bandage on his arm. 

“Nat? Tony? Thoughts?” 

“I think,” Natasha huffed out a breath. “I think we should call social services too. Not because he’s not our problem, but because I don’t want to drag him into our shit. If we train him... we’re putting him in danger.”

Tony agreed with Nat. He wholeheartedly agreed with her. But his mind kept replaying that moment in the hallway over and over again. That fucking Toomes guy had treated Peter so roughly. And again, the kid would be back on the streets if they sent him home. And now, thanks to them, he was already on the Black Order’s radar. So maybe the best option was to keep Peter with them. He would be safer with the heavily skilled Avengers at his side.

But then again, Tony was skeptical of Peter’s motives. Why wasn’t he running away right now? What was he trying to gain? Could it be, the kid wanted to stay with them? Could it be that innocent? Or was it something more sinister? Was Peter somehow more involved with the Black Order? Why was he stealing that briefcase? Was it because he was naive enough to believe money was inside the suitcase? Or did he know exactly what he was stealing? 

“Tony? It’s up to you. We have two votes for he stays, and two votes for he goes.”

But the way Peter pleaded with them not to send him back... he was scared of something. At least if he was with the Avengers, they could keep him safe. 

Snatching his beer off the table, Tony stood out of his seat. “He stays with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a little confusing there is a lot going on, and a lot to discuss. What do you think of the end result? :) I love hearing your thoughts and comments.  
> Also thank you to everyone who left kudos or bookmarked or read this story. I appreciate you!


	5. Step 5: Go Back to the Basics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes great courage  
> to see the world  
> In all it’s tainted glory,  
> and still to love it.
> 
> ~Oscar Wilde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The usual swearing, and there is a scene where Tony fixes Peter’s wound. It’s a little graphic the depiction of him stitching the wound. If you don’t like reading about needles when you get to the part where Tony goes into the bathroom just skip to the page break. Or feel free to skim. I hate needles in real life but I had no problem writing this, so you might be okay! Anyways! I just wanted to give you a heads up. Please enjoy the next chapter, we finally have a lot of Peter yay!!!

“You mean... I can stay?” Peter blinked, dumbfounded. 

“Yeah. That’s what we were just talking about.” Tony snapped. Jeez. This kid was a little slow in understanding things, wasn’t he?

The kid - Peter (Tony needed to remember that name) - apparently understood the irritation behind his comment, because his face formed a beautiful scowl. 

“What makes you think I want to stay here with you.” He crossed his arms. How cute. Five minutes in and he was already displaying signs of bratty behavior.

“Because you have nowhere else to go.” Natasha pointed out. 

All of the Avengers had gathered around the living room area of their garage after coaxing Tony to have this conversation. It took a few shattered bottles of beer and a lot of swearing but Tony finally gathered enough strength to tell Peter that he could stay. Part of him really didn’t want the kid around. In fact, he hated himself for agreeing to this stupid idea in the first place. 

“I have places I can go.” Peter mumbled.

“Yeah, but no place nice. You ran away for a reason right?” Steve sat next to him on the couch. “And, well, our hide-out might not be a five star hotel, but it is cosy.”

Peter’s eyes searched the room, glancing over the bare-empty space, the cars parked along the side, and the cold cement walls. “Cosy isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind.” He muttered. 

“Look, you don’t have to stay.” Steve declared. “But you can.”

_And we’re going to call social services if you don’t_ , Tony thought. Of course, it was wise for Steve not to mention this little detail to the kid. 

Peter rested his palms below his chin, contemplating deeply. They waited a moment. Clint was shifting around on his feet, getting antsy. Bruce was sitting on the lovers seat, next to the couch, so he could rest his arm. It was still incredibly sore from where the doctors dug out the bullet. 

“Okay.” Peter stood to his feet. “Okay. I’ll stay.” 

He said it like him staying was going to somehow help the Avengers rather than put more strain on them. 

“Wonderful.” Steve smiled. “So come on, then. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Aww we’re really getting a new roommate.” Clint cooed. “He must be desperate for a place to stay if he’s willing to live with people he just met.” 

“I can hear you.” 

Clint muttered a sheepish apology, fleeing to the kitchen. 

“He does have a point. Why are you willing to stay with us?” Nat asked, circling him with a suspicious glare.

“Because you guys saved me from being beaten to death by those thugs out there. I figure, I can sorta trust you, right?”

Nat stopped circling him and smiled a devilish smile. “Yeah. You can _sorta_ trust us.”

Steve placed a protective hand on Peter’s shoulder. “She’s kidding. You can completely trust us.”

“You can never completely trust anyone.” Bruce kicked at Nat’s legs, trying to get her to shut up. She turned and slapped his injured arm, eliciting a howl from man. 

The kid flinched before turning back to Steve who was still blabbering. “We want to help you stay away from those ‘thugs’ as you called them. But they’re really known as the Black Order.”

“Who are they?” 

“They are an elite criminal organization. All of us used to be members before we broke away. Now we work for the CIA.”

Peter’s eyes grew comically wide. “You’re cops?”

A chorus of no’s were shouted and Peter flinched again. “Then - then who -“

“We call ourselves, the Avengers.” Tony said. “But really we’re just a bunch of revenge seeking outcasts with no compunction about being impolite.”

“Harshly put, but essentially Tony’s right.”

“You’re name’s Tony.” The kid whispered, looking at the dark haired man with those chocolate eyes. “Nice to put a face to a name. For a while there, I was calling you ‘creepy stalker dude.’”

Tony gave his best fake smile. “And I thought you were a little school boy with those khakis. Nice to see you in a pair of jeans for a change.” Tony replied dryly. The boy’s gaze dropped to his attire. He had a white tank-top, which was now filthy with mud, and a classic, albeit faded, pair of blue jeans. His hairstyle still screamed west-side-story though. 

“Yeah, that’s Tony Stark. He’s an old sour-patch-kid who hates joy.” Steve smirked, instantly soothing the kid before he could get upset. 

“Yeah,” Nat agreed, “He can be a serious grouch. We’re talking serious asshole-ism.”

Tony waved his middle finger in circles. Fuck them all. If anyone was an old-school asshole around here, it was Steve. Natasha returned the gesture and Tony just about threw a couch pillow at her head. All in good fun though. Tony cared about Nat like she was family. 

“Nah, for real though, Tony can turn on the charm when he wants. He makes a lot of people happy so that’s a plus.” 

“This is splendid, but perhaps we should get the boy cleaned up and fed before doing introductions.” Bruce piped in.

Steve agreed, wrapping a possessive arm around the kid before leading him towards the kitchen.

He walked Peter into the other room and pointed out the necessities before leading him over to the big wooden, spiral, staircase. Each step had a huge gap between the next. It was mildly intimidating, especially mixed with how old the wood was. One day, Tony swore someone was going to fall through. But Peter didn’t seem to mind in the least. He jumped up those old creaky steps like a brand new puppy, ready to mark his territory. In hindsight, Tony was aware that comparing Peter to a dog was probably a little harsh, but that’s how it felt as he watched the youthful teen bounce around his new home. 

“What?! No way!! You have an upstairs? In a garage? This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I thought all garages were one floor, you know?” 

This was a mistake. They couldn’t keep a teenager/kid. They’d have better luck with a dog. At least those things don’t ask questions, they just bark. 

After reaching the top of the stairs, Steve showed him the bedrooms first. “I know it’s not much but it beats sleeping on the streets.”

Steve opened every room door (there were only three) and Peter got more excited each time. 

“Wow! A TV! You have a TV in your room?” Peter walked into the small space and examined the device. He found out the old device worked when a picture of SpongeBob flashed on the screen. 

“We stole it.” Tony said in the silence of the flickering TV, and Steve shot him a dirty look.

“We try not to steal anymore. Now that we work for the CIA.”

“We don’t officially work for the CIA.”

Steve shrugged. “We still get paid.”

“Barely. That’s why we have to steal on the side.” Tony explained to the kid who was now _watching_ spongebob and laughing. 

“You know Fury said not to steal.” Steve sighed. “Okay. Never mind. I know that’s never going to happen. Anyways, let me show you where the bathroom is, Peter.”

Peter flicked off the television but remained in the bedroom. He looked over his shoulder at them, his eyebrows raised. Something twinkled in his eye, like there was a question he was dying to ask, but couldn’t voice.

“Come on,” Steve urged, gesturing for Peter to follow. But Peter continued to stand in the room. 

“Is it mine?” He finally asked. 

“What? The room?”

Peter nodded. 

“We don’t have assigned rooms. This is whoever gets here first.”

“But there are only three bedrooms... and there’s five of you.”

“Actually there’s more like eight of us but they don’t all live here.” Steve explained. “But I see your point. You wanna know where the others sleep if it’s not in a bedroom.”

Peter nodded. 

“Follow Tony. He’ll show you.”

Tony grumbled, giving Steve his best glare before stomping down the stairs, wincing as they squeaked beneath his weight. 

He led the kid to the back of the garage, just past the kitchen. In the third section where there were a few sleeping bags on the concrete floor as well as some blankets. But mostly, the third section had auto parts and weapons lining the shelves, along with a vehicle sitting on a four post lift. As the name suggests, this lift is characterized by four hydraulic posts and a vehicle is placed on the surface of the lift when the lift is raised to allow drive-in storage for a second vehicle underneath. 

“We’re a mechanics by day, thieves by night kinda group.” Tony explained. 

Peter frowned at the sleeping bags, nervously chewing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Do I have to sleep on these?”

“What’s the matter? Not comfortable enough for your majesty?” Tony and Steve laughed together but Peter didn’t join in on the fun. 

“My back - I can’t lay on the ground for too long anymore.”

_Anymore?_ Jeez, this kid must have had it bad. What was he, Harry Potter? Forced to sleep in a cupboard by his foster parents? 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, his laughter dying out quickly. 

“I - my back is messed up. That’s all.” The kid was shrinking under the scrutiny. “So maybe I could sleep in one of the cars instead?”

Steve shook his head. “No, don’t be silly, you can have one of the bedrooms upstairs. It’s not a problem.”

“Yeah.” Tony said dryly, “Now we only have two rooms we can kill each other over. Not a problem at all.”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” Steve said. Then, he turned his attention to Peter. “Why is your back messed up?” 

“Oh you know,” Peter paused to examine the weapons on the shelves. Tony wondered if maybe he didn’t trust them. He wouldn’t actually blame the kid if he didn’t. You don’t just walk into a criminal’s hide-out and think to yourself: _hey these are some real trustworthy fellas. I’m gonna open up and tell them my whole life story._ So perhaps Peter was hesitating so often for a reason. Perhaps he was trying to be careful with what information he revealed to protect himself. 

Steve should stop pushing it. Obviously the kid wasn’t going to open up, and Tony couldn’t fault him for that. It was smart, safe, and the way to go in life. But Steve wasn’t letting it go. 

“What happened to your back?” 

Peter sighed, a grave expression taking over. “I don’t like talking about it.”

Well that was something they could all relate to: not wanting to talk about the past. Hell, that was the Avengers Motto. 

“Good, cause no one here talks about the past.” Tony said with conviction. “Now come on. You’re bleeding all over the floor. We need to get your wounds fixed. Steve, show this kid to the bathroom, I’ll go collect Bruce. He’s the closest thing we have to a doctor.”

“All he knows how to do is dress wounds.” Steve mumbled, “Even I can do that.”

“Whatever, I’m going to get him.”

“Let him rest.” 

“He should check the kid out.” 

“I said, let him rest, Tony. That’s an order.”

Tony’s body went ridged, his fingers turning claw-like. There was nothing on this earth he hated more than being given an order, especially by Steve fucking Rogers. “I know you didn’t just say that.” 

“I’m confused. Is - is he in charge around here?” Peter posed a valuable question. Steve sure as fuck _thought_ he was in charge, but it was never officially established, nor was it true. If anything, Tony should be in charge for all the work he does around here with the cars. He’s the reason they actually have a decent income that’s legal! 

“We’re a democracy. But I am the leader of this ship.” Steve said and Tony had to bite down on his tongue to resist commenting. Fuck, Steve knew how to crawl under his skin. “In fact, you can call me Captain.” 

“Then by all means, _Captain_ , clean the kid’s wounds yourself.” Tony spat before stomping his way into the kitchen where Clint sat. 

He wasn’t going to spend another minute listening to that man feed Peter garbage. 

He overheard Steve mumble something to Peter about how he’s always grouchy or some bullshit like that. Tony rolled his eyes and slammed his butt in the kitchen chair. Clint took his headphones off and stared, waiting to see what Tony wanted. 

“You making dinner, or should I go and get take-out.” Tony hoped for the take-out option so he could get the hell away from everyone, but Clint said he was cooking.

Since he felt like he couldn’t leave, Tony decided to give Clint a hand with the grilled-cheese. 

“Make a lot.” Tony told him. “The kid might be hungry.” 

He wanted to make sure Peter was well fed. Safe. Protected. Happy. It was the weirdest thing. Because Tony was cold on the inside, as if his heart and his organs and everything that made him human were replaced with machinery. But when Tony thought about helping Peter, when he thought about giving the boy food and keeping him safe, it was like his internal organs were thawing. It was like he could feel again, and Tony hadn’t felt those protective feelings in a long time. 

They were on their eighth sandwich, when Tony heard the kid cry out in pain. He stopped cutting his tomatoes, and looked over at Clint. “You hear that?”

Clint shrugged, pulling his headphones out of his ear. There was nothing but the hum of the TV so Clint put his headphones back in when Tony heard a second cry. What the hell was Steve doing? Drowning the wound with alcohol? Realizing gravely that his theory was a very likely possibility, he quickly rushed to the tiny bathroom behind the stairs. 

There, sitting on the lid of the toilet was Peter, and Steve stood over him with a needle and thread. 

“What the hell is going on in here?” Tony shouted. 

They both looked at him like deer caught in the headlights. Peter’s cheek had a bandaid over it, which was actually pretty adorable and his bruises were shining with some wet substance, most likely some type of pain ointment. But Peter was cradling his arm away from Steve in a defensive stance and he seemed very upset with the man. 

“He’s being a baby.” Steve accused. 

Peter’s nostril’s flared. “He’s trying to STAB me.”

“I’m giving him stitches.” Steve reached for Peter’s arm and pinched the wound closed. Peter cried out again, struggling to pull it away. “Stop!” He kicked at his arm. 

“Oh sit still and quite your whining,” Steve ordered, slowly shoving the needle through Peter’s skin. Tony winced, feeling sorry for the kid. He knew how it felt to get stitched up by Steve. The man was methodically slow, which maximized the pain.

Peter yanked his arm back a second later, tearing the thread and re-opening his wound another inch. “Owww.” 

“Now look what you did.” Steve shook his head. 

“It hurts asshole. Just leave it alone.” Peter yelped, hugging his arm to his chest. 

Before Steve could chew the kid out, Tony pushed him aside. “Alright Doctor Who, give it a rest. I’ll stitch him. You go slice the tomatoes.”

Steve protested for a while, but ultimately gave in, allowing Tony to take his place on the edge of the bathtub. Tony faced the kid, and stared at him awkwardly. He was very uncomfortable around teenagers. 

Peter’s pupils were blown wide open as they locked on Tony’s. He was apprehensive about Tony stitching him, probably scared he would do it even more roughly than Steve. 

“You don’t have to -“

“Shhh,” Tony grabbed a flask of whiskey from inside his jacket pocket and handed it to Peter. “Drink,” he commanded. Peter’s hands clenched around the flask and without much hesitation he gulped it down. Tony could see by his reaction that he had tried whiskey before, because he wasn’t spluttering or wincing. After the kid inhaled a quarter of the bottle, Tony pulled it out of his reach. 

“To take the edge off, not to get drunk.” He muttered setting it back in his pocket. Tony took the needle and thread in his hand and licked his lips in concentration as he thread it back up. 

“Alright, kid. This is going to hurt, no sugar-coating it. But I’m going to be real gentle. I want you to bite down on this.”

Peter looked at the washcloth Tony held out to him and shook his head. “I don’t need stitches. Really. My arm’s fine.”

“It’s a deep wound. What did those assholes do? Stab you?”

“No. I had it before. That’s why I know it’s no big deal. I can handle it.” Peter waved off the washcloth. 

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Tough Guy. Well eventually you’re going to get this baby infected if you don’t patch ‘er up.”

Tony folded the washcloth in half, “Open.”

Peter frowned. He was shaking. But he met Tony’s eyes again, and there was something shared between the two of them. Some type of bond sparked in that very moment when Peter’s eyes gushed with trust for Tony and he opened his mouth. Tony slipped the cloth in between his lips. “Bite down.”

Peter did, and Tony let go of the washcloth, turning his attention back to his arm. “Ready?”

Peter nodded hesitantly, his breath hitching as Tony positioned the needle. He trusted him, but he had no reason too. Tony’s heart swelled at Peter’s blind faith, it made him feel even more like a father, but he also held such worry in his mind. Trusting someone like that could be dangerous in the real world. Peter needed to learn that blind trust was unacceptable in this business. 

Instead of waiting and prolonging this, Tony silently slid the needle into the kid’s skin. 

Peter jerked from the initial entry point, his entire body going stiff beneath Tony’s careful hands. The strangled little noises were stifled into the washcloth, but the low hum of pain still got through to Tony’s ears. He didn’t wait for Peter to get used to it. He knew from experience the slow stitches only prolonged the pain. So, he slipped it through to the other side and pulled it closed, trying to focus on the task at hand, and not the way Peter reached out and clutched his shoulder until his knuckles looked like they were about to break out of the skin. 

“Shh, shh, I know, I know.”

Peter moaned around the washcloth. 

“Almost done. Almost done. I’ll go quick.”

Tony stopped watching the kid’s face because it was _hurting_ him in ways he couldn’t explain. He pulled another stitch through and then another. After the forth, he finished, tying it closed. 

“There you go. Good job.” Tony took the washcloth out of his mouth and pet the boy’s hair. It was softer than he would have expected. He liked it, so he ruffled the hair again until both he and Peter were smiling. 

“You’re going to have one hell of a scar there, kid.”

Peter twisted his head to look at the wound. “Oh good. Another one to add to my collection.”

Tony sat there in silence, sweeping over the kid with his gaze. Peter was filthy. Dirt smudges on his face, arms, and tank-top. It might have been 80 degrees outside, but inside the garage, it was a good 10 degrees colder. Tony took pride in stealing and collecting an excessive amount of fans to keep this garage cool. But now, the goosebumps on the kid’s arm made him feel slightly guilty for the extra fans. 

“You should take a warm shower. You smell terrible. I’ll bring you some dry clothes to change into when your done.”

Peter didn’t respond but he stood when Tony did, and eyed the bathtub wearily. 

“Hold on,” Tony said as he stepped outside of the room, leaving Peter alone in the dreary little bathroom by himself. A moment later, and Tony returned with a pile of clothes. 

“So, Nat is honestly the thinnest out of all of us. You’ll have the best chance at fitting into her pants. Sorry. But Nat wears cool things. It’s a little... tight. But it should fit.”

Peter blanched at the tight black jeans. He noticed the shirts were a couple of band shirts. Metallica, AC/DC, Bon Jovi and he smiled, grabbing at them. 

“This is my shirt.” Tony said, when the kid grabbed the AC/DC one. “It will be big on you, but big means comfortable sometimes. So it’s up to you.”

“Yeah...” Peter nodded. “I’ll take it. It will hide my jeans which will no-doubt leave nothing to the imagination.” 

Tony chuckled. The kid had a pretty good sense of humor. He watched as Peter took the bundle of clothes under his arm and set them on the bathroom sink. Tony went to leave. 

Standing just outside the room, Tony went to close the door when Peter peeled the white tank-top over his head revealing a bunch of scars, raised and blended together in the most disturbing of ways - on his bare-back. 

Tony’s gut clenched at the horrible, uncomfortable sight. How could anyone do that to a child? His mind went dark for a moment, and he was sinking into that place where he goes when he thinks about the past. The point of no return as he calls it. The place where he is lost for hours in what feels like an alternate reality, where he is chained underwater screaming, but no one can hear him. It is in that place where Tony knows only the horrors of the world and nothing more. He has forever time to reflect upon the evil he has witnessed first hand. The blood stained curtains, the knife on a pink and white kitchen floor, the bodies.

“It’s not that bad.” Peter’s voice dragged him ever so slowly out of _the point of no return_ , and Tony realized that while he had been stuck in that Godawful place, in reality he had been staring at the kid’s back like an idiot for the past five minutes. Peter could see him through the mirror that was hanging on the wall. 

“Sorry. I was just leaving.” Tony mumbled under his breath. He went to close the door, but Peter spoke, stopping him yet again. 

“I know they look bad, but they don’t hurt anymore.” 

Tony frowned, piecing together their earlier conversation in his mind. 

_I - my back is messed up. That’s all._

“Is this why you can’t sleep on the floor? Because your back has been whipped?”

“Mmhm.” He answered simply, but Tony could hear that his voice was thicker than before. 

Now Tony felt like shit. He didn’t want to drag out painful memories for the kid. He of all people knew how shitty that felt. Apologizing again, he shut the door. 

_________________

When he got back to the kitchen, it was a war zone, plain and simple. Every inch of the countertop was covered with dirty pots and pans and splatters of food. Only his crew could make cooking grilled cheese this difficult.

“See this is why we order out.” Tony chuckled, heading over to help. 

“We’re trying to make a good impression on the kid, so we need to make him a decent meal.”

“Is that why you’re feeding him a bowl of lettuce?” 

Steve groaned. “It’s supposed to be a salad but Clint dropped the carrots, cucumbers, and celery.”

“We had that shit?”

The Avengers never ate healthy foods. The last healthy meal they ate was a salad at _Wendy’s_. 

“Yeah, cause apparently Bruce blends all the green stuff into his smoothies every morning.”

“Bruce drinks smoothies?”

“I know right, the shit you learn everyday.” Steve said with a chuckle. 

“I don’t know how long we had the carrots. Probably belonged to the other people that used to work here before us. But it doesn’t matter anyways since Clint is an incompetent chef.” Steve said. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to know the floor was slippery?!”

“You dropped all the vegetables. Who does that?” 

Things seemed to be holding up well. Tony appreciated the small talk as he placed a heaping amount of grilled cheese sandwiches onto a plate. 

“Yo,” Clint called out into the living room where Nat and Bruce were watching TV... or making out. One or the other. They do both often. 

“Help me make the sweet-potato fries.”

A moment later and Tony heard the click of the TV and then both Nat and Bruce entered the kitchen. 

“You want us to make our special frozen pack of sweet potato fries? Just how much do you want this kid to work for us, Steve?”

“A lot. We can really use him.” 

Use him? Tony hated that phrase like he hated _the point of no return_. They weren’t supposed to be using the kid for anything. 

“Really?” Bruce asked. “Cause no offense, but he seems kinda weak.”

Tony felt blood rush to his face. How dare they call Peter weak. Anybody that can take a beating in silence is not considered weak in Tony’s book. Anybody that can acquire those terrible looking scars, yet still be cheerful, is not considered weak. 

“Yeah.” Nat agreed, popping a pretzel in her mouth. “He’s too skinny and too young. They’ll eat him alive if we take him with us on a mission.”

“Yes but he can be trained.” Steve said, “Besides, young is good. Young means fast. And he’s small. He can fit into those places we can’t.”

“Oh I like the sound of that.” Nat said as she pulled open the freezer and snatched the bag of fries. “Cause if you boys stick me in another fucking air vent, I’m going to bust your balls.”

Ten minutes later, Tony paused at the far end of the little wooden table they owned and placed the plate of grilled cheese in the center. He pulled out a chair just as Peter reappeared from the bathroom. His hair was matted down and wet, and he carried his old clothes under his arms, while he was drowning in Tony’s shirt. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing for a second, eyes fixed on the kid who tilted his head like a dog listening for a sound. 

“Oh, you can leave your clothes in the hamper over there, and I’ll put them through the wash.” Steve said, pointing in the general direction of his office. 

Peter did as he was instructed and then took a seat at the table across from Tony. He dusted his hands over his new black jeans and found the pack of cigarettes he was looking for. Peter brought the cigarette slowly to his lips, and pulled out a lighter.

“You know, it’s bad manners to smoke at the dinner table,” Steve said with a wink.

“Sorry, Dad.” Peter said, catching onto his joking nature. The two chuckled as the rest of the Avengers piled around the table, dragging stools from the back room. The table was only meant for four, but they were squeezing six. 

“So kid, where did you pick up smoking?” Steve asked, reaching across the table for the plate of sandwiches. He took two. Tony wanted to scold him for not serving Peter first. The poor thing was probably starved. 

Peter shrugged. “One of my old foster parents smoked and they offered me a cig, and yeah. The rest is history, I guess.”

“How many foster families did you have?”

“A lot.” He responded more hesitantly, growing slightly defensive at the amount of questions being asked.

“Pass the fries.” Nat said, looking at Tony from over the ring of her shot glass. He obliged, handing her the bowl of orange sweet potato fries.

“So where are you from, Peter?” Steve pressed.

The kid kept his eyes on the table. Tony thought he wasn’t going to respond, but eventually he did. “Queens.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve been here your whole life huh?” 

Peter nodded, licking his lips. Bruce nudged his shoulder so he could pass the grilled cheese sandwiches. Peter took five before passing it to Steve. 

Good lad, five sandwiches was a good start. He should have taken even more than that. Even if that meant Tony had to whip up some more on the stove. He was fine with it so long as Peter had a full belly. 

“I’m from Brooklyn originally.” Steve told him. “I almost died on the streets.”

Peter looked up at Steve with his customary curiosity. “You ran away too?”

“No. I was an orphan.”

“I’m an orphan too.” Peter declared, and Tony could hear the desperate excitement in his voice for someone to be able to relate to him. The kid was trying to cling to someone - anyone - that much was obvious. 

“But the difference is they never put me in foster care like they did with you.” Steve explained, immediately shutting down the relatability. “I was in a car accident with my parents the day they died. When I awoke, I was hidden in the forest under a bunch of shrubs. I watched from a distance as the police and ambulance took my parents to the hospital. I followed them on foot but by the time I got there, my parents were declared dead. So I ran away from the hospital before anyone could call child services. Every day since that day I was living on the streets.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter whispered. “How - How old were you?”

“Ten.” 

Peter took a long drag of his cigarette and Steve continued his story.

“I never had enough food to eat, so I started stealing. You ever steal food before, Peter?”

The kid nodded, putting out his cigarette and picking up his sandwich. Steve ruffled his hair as if he were proud. 

“One day I was so hungry, and it was beating down rain, I passed out in the back of an alleyway near a dumpster. I thought I was going to die I was so hungry. That’s when Corvus Glaive, he’s a member of the Black Order, found me. He saved me.”

Peter narrowed his eyes in confusion. “I thought... I thought you didn’t like the Black Order?”

“Well I don’t. Not anymore. But I did.”

“What changed?”

Steve took a gulp of his scotch and exhaled. “They ordered me to steal from my oldest friend, Bucky. This guy took care of me when I was a kid, man. He used to hook me up with food, shelter, and cash. He was my hero. I couldn’t steal from him. He was the only person left on this earth that I ever really loved.”

Nat sighed and put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “What’s worse is they wanted Steve to kill him too.”

Peter blanched. “Wh-what?”

“Yeah, that was the day I realized I needed to get the hell away from The Black Order.”

“We all came to that realization at about the same time.” Nat said. “They were getting more and more radical by the second.”

Tony looked down at his shot glass. It was empty. Already. Time for a third. 

“Sorry.” Steve shouted suddenly. “Where are my manors? I haven’t even introduced you to everybody. Peter, meet Natasha Romanoff, our badass ninja. She can just about kick the crap out of anyone with her bare-hands. But she prefers to use fancy gadgets sometimes. Knife in her lipstick, nunchaku’s in her shoes, y’know what I mean.”

“Kinda rough’n’tumble in the bedroom too, huh Bruce?” Clint joked and Bruce slammed his fist against the table so hard everything shook. 

“That’s Bruce Banner. Our big guy has some anger issues. Don’t worry about him though. He won’t hurt you. Just don’t piss him off.”

Peter frowned, his shoulders hunching in on himself.

“That jokester guy over there is Clint Barton. He likes to piss off Bruce. So as you can see, he is not very smart.”

“Love you too Steve.” Clint said while blowing him a kiss. 

“And you already know Tony Stark, from the apartment building. He’s our protector. He does a lot of the dangerous stuff before hand so our gigs run smoothly. That’s why he took such a beating out in the field today.”

Peter nodded, holding his gaze on Tony for a while. 

“Is that why he was at the apartment?”

“Yeah. He was casing the joint.” Steve said. “We can’t do what we do without someone as brave and stupid as Tony.”

“Yeah, that guy’s not afraid of death.” Clint laughed. 

“And then there’s me. I’m Steve Rogers. But you can call me Captain.”

The rest of the Avengers shot out of their seats, throwing fries at Steve’s head, screaming obscenities.

“Oh please!”

“Shut the fuck up, man.”

“Yeah fucking right.”

“ _Captain_ , give me a break.”

When dinner was finished, Peter offered to do the dishes. He told them it was the least he could do since they were letting him stay. 

“Why _are_ you letting me stay with you anyways?” Peter asked hesitantly, a moment later. His hand was dipped in the sink, foamy with soap.

“About that,” Steve sighed. “We actually want to train you. If that’s okay.”

Peter slipped the towel off the counter next to him. Drying his hands, he pursued his lips.

“Train me to do what exactly?”

“To steal like we do. But also to fight.” Steve sighed again. “Look, we know since you touched that briefcase the Black Order is going to be after you. If you stay with us, we can protect you. And if you fight with us, you can help protect other people.”

“Is that what you were doing at my apartment?” Peter asked. “Helping people? Because last I checked, you burnt down the building.”

Tony shook his head. “How do you know? I didn’t see you in the crowd.” 

“That’s the night I ran away.” Peter mumbled. “I actually had the chance to run away because of the fire, but that is **so** not my point.” 

“We didn’t burn down the building. The Black Order did. We were trying to stop them from hurting Dr. Strange. He’s a guy that used to work for them. Long story, but we were trying to make sure his valuables were safe. Luckily Strange was gone but unfortunately we couldn’t stop the Black Order from torching the place.”

“Oh.” Peter said. “Well okay. I would love to learn how to fight. Maybe I could finally kick my foster father’s ass for a change.”

“There’s the spirit.” Steve said, clapping his back. “Now get your butt to bed. Training starts early tomorrow morning.”

Peter raced upstairs. 

The boy was too eager for this. Tony’s stomach knotted tightly, a small surge of adrenaline combined with the effects of the alcohol made him feel nauseated. The kid was too damn young for this. 

By training Peter to fight and to steal, they would be training him for a life of crime. Worst of all, Steve was dragging him into the Avengers personal shit. This wasn’t Peter’s battle to fight. 

Who the hell was Steve to waltz into Peter’s life and fuck it all up? All these negative thoughts jumbled and twisted in Tony’s mind like a tornado. 

In his state of nauseated panic, Tony pounded on Peter’s bedroom door.

“Hey Ton -“

“Listen up. Everybody else here might want you, but let me make one thing very clear: I don’t. So do yourself a favor and get out now while you still have the chance.”

With that, Tony slammed the door on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa!!! Cliff-hanger? I know what you’re thinking - you cannot end it that way. Well, tell that to Tony. He obviously doesn’t know how to say goodnight properly 😂
> 
> But seriously, this was insane right? So many things are going on. Let me know what you thought of Tony stitching Peter, and Steve’s backstory and of course anything else. I love hearing feedback. Also. Thank you to everyone who has read this story!! I’m always appreciative. Sending lots of love! :)


	6. Step 6: Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some I consider wise  
> tell me  
> grief is best endured  
> when it’s edges fade,  
> when numbness follows disaster,  
> When you find   
> whatever safe house  
> time, in due, will offer.
> 
> Once I might have agreed.  
> But I lost her.
> 
> Now I pray for torment,  
> That her glittering shapes  
> burn through my skin  
> to bone  
> the wound a shifting pattern   
> that will not heal
> 
> ~ Jo McDougall

Tony was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in a pair of loose sweats, sipping coffee out of a huge mug and looking through the newspaper. He re-read the same sentence over again, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the tiny square windows that hung from the garage door. As soon as he felt his eyes drifting, he snapped them back to his paper, re-reading the sentence again. Slowly, he slurped his black coffee and his eyes inadvertently drifted towards the windows again, and he watched bitterly as Peter sparred with Natasha.

Despite Tony’s firm warning last night, the kid woke up early as hell and went to train with Natasha before sunrise. To say Tony was pissed was an understatement. He was furious, livid, enraged. It was worse than anything he could have imagined seeing the kid practicing his fighting stance with one of the most notoriously trained assailants in the world. Natasha Romanoff was no doubt the best of the best, and Peter could learn a lot from her, but watching them tumble around in the grass was like watching a lion toy with a puppy. Tony wanted to claw his eyes out. 

He couldn’t quite put his finger on _why_ it bothered him so much to have Peter around, but it did. It bothered him a lot. He liked the kid. He wanted to protect the kid. But he couldn’t stand seeing the kid. 

It didn’t make sense.

There was a rustling from behind, and Tony perked up, glancing behind his shoulder at Bruce who was grabbing a box of Cinnamon Life. 

“Good morning.” His friend greeted, taking a seat at the table but Tony only grunted.

“If you can call it _good_.”

“Uh-oh. I know that look. That’s your pouty look. What’s wrong?” asked Bruce, amused and not that surprised. 

Tony only glared harder at his chuckling friend. “Nothings wrong okay.” 

“You haven’t been laid in a while. Is that it?”

“Okay fine. If you must know _the kid_ is my problem.” 

Bruce turned to look out the window, (those three stupid fucking windows which Tony was going to board up with wood and nails in the next two minutes), and noticed Peter was keeping up well with Natasha’s movements. “Peter? What’s wrong with him? He looks like a quick study to me.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

Bruce snorted but offered him a piece of toast. 

“Care to enlighten me on what’s going through that brain of yours?”

“He’s - he’s staying here.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “Yeah... he is.”

“And you don’t see the problem?”

“Tony, you’re the one that agreed he should stay here. You were the deciding vote.”

“Ugh,” Tony pulled a hand over his face, tugging at his skin, “Don’t remind me.” 

Bruce nudged his friend, offering a warm smile of encouragement. “It’s going to be okay. He’ll fit right in.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tony mumbled, “He’s just a kid, Bruce. He shouldn’t be in an environment like this.”

Bruce, the pleasantly calm therapist of the group, except when he was angry, picked up his spoon and pointed it at Tony.

“Do you think that maybe this has nothing to do with Peter and more to do with the fact that he is a kid. And we all know that kids remind you of -“

“Don’t.” Tony grabbed Bruce’s wrist sharply, stopping him from placing the spoon in his mouth. “Ever. Mention. Her. Name.” He squeezed Bruce’s wrist even tighter. “Got it?”

“Okay. Okay. Take it easy.” The big guy said as he removed Tony’s hand from his wrist. “It was just a question.”

A question Bruce should have known better than to ask. The Avengers don’t talk about the past for a reason. 

Standing abruptly, Tony stalked off into the back room, slamming the door behind him. Clanging around with some auto parts, Tony pounded a hammer down on an old 1990s Honda Accord. The sound echoed harshly in the tiny space and it sounded _good_. Tony welcomed the noise. That’s what the old beater cars were for, getting out aggression. A month ago, Bruce used a sledgehammer like mad on this piece of junk. 

But unfortunately the other cars in the back belonged to people so Tony couldn’t smash them. So he focused on the poor Honda Accord. No worries, Tony told himself, he would fix the car later cause that’s what Tony loved to do more than anything: fix cars. He could sit for hours and just tinker with the engines and play with the paint combos. Tony loved cars. Loved them more than people sometimes. 

And besides, they did have an actual job to do in the Auto shop, which apparently everyone else forgot about since the kid arrived. No matter. Tony would be happy to do the work all by himself. He liked working, and tinkering and fixing things. It kept his mind busy. He needed that kind of distraction in his life.

Grabbing a selection of tools, Tony marched over to the Ford Focus parked in the back. At least back there he couldn’t see the kid. 

Kid. 

Only sixteen years on this planet earned him that title. When Peter reaches about thirty then maybe he can reach the adult status. Until then, he was just a boy who got dragged into a shit-fest. He had absolutely no idea what he was walking into. How could he? He was just a fucking kid. He doesn’t know about the haunting memories that will linger after he watches someone get shot. He doesn’t know about the months he will spend in jail until one of his buddies can bail his ass out. He doesn’t know the stuff guards will do to him in jail. He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t even have to think about the stuff they’ll do to him because he shouldn’t be going to jail!

None of this was fair to him. 

Tony thought about what he said to Peter last night. The things he said were distraught, almost hysterical. He was not in the best mindset. 

Then again...

Will he ever be in a good mindset? He thought about what Bruce had said. Tony hated it when Bruce was right. But most of the time, he was, and this was no exception. Peter reminded Tony of a kid. 

Not just any kid.

_His_ kid.

His little girl. 

Morgan.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind as quickly as possible. Going down that road was dangerous. It was a one-way ticket to the point of no return. To the lovely rock bottom. He’s been there before. Sat on the ocean floor with all the other rocks as the water filled his lungs so painfully full he couldn’t breathe. He kept waiting to drown - for death to give him sweet mercy - but soon he realized he couldn’t live nor die on rock bottom. He just existed in agony, separated from all he loved. 

It took years to get back from rock bottom. Tony would never go there again. That’s why the Avengers have their motto about the past, for their own personal sanity. 

But Peter was stomping all over their motto, digging up old memories out of everyone. He reminded Steve of his past just the other day. What was next? Bruce? Because if that was the case they might as well build a bomb shelter. When Bruce goes off, he really goes off. 

But besides all that, there was something else about Peter that Tony didn’t like. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but he felt like he had seen the kid somewhere before. Even at the apartment building, Tony had been drawn to the boy and he had no idea why. There was something about him that seemed so vaguely familiar. It was almost as if he was somehow a part of Tony’s past. 

But that was ridiculous, and simply not possible. Peter would have been six when Tony joined the Black Order. Scratch that, Peter wouldn’t have been born. Because Tony broke away about six years ago, and that’s how long he’s been with the Avengers so Peter would have been a newborn. So

whatever it was that seemed familiar must just be a characteristic that Peter possesses which resembles someone Tony once knew. But he had no idea who. All he knew was it felt odd. But maybe strangely comforting? 

Either way, if Tony was going to cope with Peter being around, he was going to need to stay busy and avoid him as much as possible. 

So he worked on the cars all day, and got drunk off his ass. It was the best day Tony had in a long time. 

At the end of the day, when Peter entered the garage exhausted from training and ready for dinner, Tony was more drunk than a freshman at his first college party. 

His spirits were flying high, and everyone else was in a good mood too. 

“So how was the kiddo’s first day of hell week?” Clint asked from his seat at the table. They were all growing accustomed to eating meals together now that the kid was around. 

Clint was digging into his frozen dinner. Nothing like a good hunk of frozen food that could be heated in a microwave for a few minutes and then eaten just as quickly. 

“He did great.” Natasha praised and Peter blushed. 

“I wasn’t so good at the whole one-armed push-ups thing.” He whispered.

Steve sat himself down at the head of the table, but unlike Natasha, he was a little more stern about Peter’s progress. 

“I think you did well for your first day. But you need to practice your endurance.”

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha’s mouth dropped open. “You should have seen him. He ran as long as I did, even almost winded me at one point.” 

Peter chuckled, picking at his frozen dinner. He was more interested in the side of mashed potatoes than he was with the greenish-looking meat. A Turkey dinner in the middle of July. Tony briefly wondered how long these frozen dinners had been sitting in the garage’s freezer. Hopefully not since November...Oh well. 

“Hey you were amazing, Queens. By far the best I’ve seen in a long time.” Steve shot a wink at Natasha and she almost poked his eye out with a fork. 

Despite the terrible conversation, Tony was still flying high. He was content with not listening, but rather playing on his phone while Steve cracked some more jokes about how Peter was stronger than Bruce. He was dangerously close to getting the big guy riled up so luckily Peter had the brains to divert the conversation.

“Foods really... soggy.” He winced. “Sorry. I was going to say good but - “ he held up the mushy looking meat that slipped off his fork.

“Sorry. We do need to get to the store.”

Bruce huffed and held out his hand. “Give it to me if you don’t want it.”

“Banner!” Nat slapped the back of his head. 

“What? I’m hungry.”

“Well so is Peter. Poor thing was stealing money from an abandoned aquatic facility. He must have been starving to try something like that.” 

If Tony was sober, that comment would have really made him think. Maybe even increase his suspicions of Peter by twenty percent. But as it was, Tony was not sober and he did not care. 

“So you guys know why I was stealing the briefcase, but do I get to know why you were stealing it?” Peter asked. 

Steve put a forkful of food to his mouth while Natasha took a huge sip of wine. 

Clint shrugged. “I’ll tell you. We were stealing a Bioweapon before Madame B. could give it to the Black Order.”

“Who’s Madame B?”

“Oh boy.” Bruce mumbled under his breathe. All eyes locked on Natasha as she finished gulping the remainder of her drink.

“Madame Bitch was -“

“That’s not her real name by the way.” Clint interrupted.

“As I was saying, Madame Bitch was my old academy teacher. My parents shipped me away to a “special” school when I was five and they never came back for me.”

“It was a school for thieves.” Clint whispered. Natasha ignored him. 

“I ended up living under Madame B’s care and she was worse than any fictional movie character could portray. She expected me to be prim and proper. She forced me to do ballet, beat me with a cane if I didn’t memorize my lessons. It was hell. So I did the best I could until one day I decided to rebel. She ended up locking me in a bathroom for a week. When she finally opened the door, a woman with raven hair was waiting for me. She claimed she was my mother and wanted to take me home. She wasn’t my mother. Her real name was Midnight Proxima.”

“Let me guess.” Peter said. “She was a member of the Black Order.”

“See.” The corner of Nat’s lips curled upwards. “What did I tell you? He is a fast learner.”

Tony placed his phone back in his pocket, ready to switch the conversation topic over to the game on TV tonight, or anything else for that matter. He was still flying high with happiness, that is, until Steve uttered the words: “Tony, can you train with Peter tomorrow?”

Steve fucking Rogers. Tony crushed his empty can of beer in his fist before tossing it at Steve’s head. 

“No way.”

The kid’s lips twisted into a snarl. “Good cause no one wants you to teach me anyways.”

“Steve obviously did, or he wouldn’t have asked.” Tony snapped, cocking his head to the side. 

“Well _**I**_ don’t want you to.” Peter hissed. Using Tony’s own words from last night against him, is he? 

The rest of the Avengers blinked awkwardly at the uncomfortable situation unfolding.

“Hey, hey.” Steve placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“Looks like the kid is throwing a tantrum.” Tony mumbled under his breath and Peter clenched his jaw so tightly he may have broken a few teeth. 

“What is his problem?” Peter asked Steve. 

“Don’t take it personally, Queens. Tony just doesn’t like kids.”

“I’m not a kid.” Peter muttered, poking at his mashed potatoes angrily. 

Nat chuckled. “Well I’ll give you this, you didn’t train like a kid today. You’re very mature for your age.”

“Thanks,” he whispered, but his eyes were still glancing towards Tony. “Why don’t you like kids?” 

“Oh shit.” Bruce snorted into his frozen dinner. 

Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry, Queens, but that question has to do with the past and we aren’t supposed to talk about the past here.”

Thank you, Steve fucking Rogers, for saying something right once in your mother fucking life, Tony thought. 

“Natasha just did. She told me all about her past.” While that was true, Natasha only shared what she felt most comfortable with and she left a lot of details out. “Why can’t Tony tell me why he doesn’t like kids?” Peter lifted his eyes and bore them fiercely into Tony’s. 

“Because it’s none of your business.” 

“I’m sorry. Did I say something to overstep?” The kid asked and oh that tone. The kid was a smug little bastard, even had that wide shit-faced-grin on his face. 

Tony was seething with anger, practically trembling from it. He felt his muscles tense, as he clenched his jaw, staring at the fiendish child who looked really small compared to everybody else. How easy it would be to snap his wrist -

“Tony, just take it easy,” Natasha whispered, so he spoke in a very calm voice. 

“It’s Mr. Stark to you, _underoos_. And I’m fine. You didn’t overstep anything because I’m not a sensitive little baby who can’t handle any insults thrown at him.” Tony said, voice dangerously calm and Peter rolled his eyes. “Now, can we please talk about the game that’s coming on tonight?”

Someone else started talking but Peter cut them off with a bark. 

“Underoos? Seriously? What do you think I am? Five?” 

Tony shot both eyebrows to the sky, “I don’t know, are you?”

“No. I’m not. And what the hell is your deal? Yesterday, you patch me up in the most gently way possible and then you tell me you don’t want me here? Like what the hell? Did I do something wrong during dinner last night? Are you mad at me? I mean, shit, you talk about _me_ being a kid? But you’re the one that’s acting childish. Why don’t you have an adult conversation with me and tell me why you’re mad.”

Tony sighed heavily. Great, now he was asking for a logical explanation. Why did the kid have to ask so many questions? Maybe Tony didn’t have a logical explanation for disliking him! He just did!

I’m mad at you because...

You remind me of my dead daughter?

There’s something familiar about you that I don’t like?

You stole a bioweapon and claimed you didn’t know what you were doing when frankly I think you did.

And oh yeah, you’re an arrogant bastard just like me!

But instead of saying all that, Tony said this, “I’m not mad at you. Look, I’m sorry for what I said last night. It’s not that I don’t want you here. It’s just - I don’t think it’s good for you to be here. This isn’t Coney Island, this isn’t some field trip. What we do here is very dangerous and it’s not a game.”

Steve blew out a breathe he’d been holding. “Tony’s right. Maybe I jumped the gun because I was excited to have a fresh young face. I never even thought about what this might be like for you. So Peter, if you think any of the training is too dangerous, all you gotta do is say something and we’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“Great, now let’s watch this game. Bring your food into the living room. First one to the couch doesn’t have to sit on the floor!”

As Natasha and Clint raced to grab bags of Tostitos and dip, Tony and Peter remained sitting at the table, starting at one another.

“So... are we good?” Peter sounded so hopeful. God, he was young. Hope is one of those things you have when your young, you don’t realize how pointless it is yet.

“Yeah. We’re good.”

____________________

Tony shot out of his sleeping bag like a Jack-in-the-box, his heart hammering in his chest. Nightmares had become more and more familiar to Tony ever since _it_ happened. 

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, thankful to be in the garage where he knew he was safe. As he tried to catch his breath, Tony sat in silence for a few minutes contemplating the terrible images of his dream. _Bloody curtains, knife on the kitchen floor, bodies._ He rubbed his eyes and stood, walking into the kitchen area for some tap-water.

It was late, about 2am, and there was no light shining through the windows. The moon must have been trapped behind a cloud, kind of like Tony’s life. 

Tony turned on the tap, cupped his hands with water, and splashed it on his face. The cold water felt refreshing after working up such a sweat.

He was reaching for a glass when he heard a soft thump followed by a grunt and some muffled cursing. 

Tony flicked the light switch on to illuminate the room. It turned out Peter was the culprit, standing next to an opened car door in Steve’s sweats and white t-shirt, with one sock off. 

“Your strip act needs a little work.” Tony teased. He couldn’t help it. His knee-jerk reaction was to crack a joke. 

But Peter didn’t say anything. He was blinking at Tony with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. This prompted Tony’s next question. 

“What are you doing?” 

The kid went white as a ghost and shit - he looked scared. Fumbling around for a good response, Peter muttered incoherent babble (I - I - um - I was - uh). He was panicked, but he masked his feelings quickly. 

“I’m looking for my lighter. I want to smoke and I lost it.”

Too late for a logical response, kid. Besides, that response wasn’t even logical.

“Why are you looking in the cars? Have you been in one of them since you got here?”

“Well... no but - I don’t know. It’s late. I wasn’t thinking.” He backed away from the vehicle as Tony stalked towards him. 

“It is late.” Tony reiterated. The back door was still open. As Tony approached the car, he leaned into the backseat noticing Peter’s sock was on the floor.

“Well, I should get back to bed.” 

“Hold it.” Tony shouted, whipping around to meet Peter head-on. 

The kid yelped, shrinking back. To Tony’s horror, Peter held up a pair of shaking hands to cover his face. 

Tony blinked owlishly at the child. The question he was about to ask fell unhindered from his lips. 

Slowly (oh-so slowly) Peter lowered one small quivering hand and, peered at Tony from behind his over-grown bangs that weren’t gelled back. When he saw nothing was happening, Peter finally lowered his hands all together, grinning up at Tony with a nervous laugh. “Ha. S-Sorry about that. Um... I really should go to bed.” Peter said, taking a few shaky breaths before somewhat relaxing. 

“Yeah. You should.” 

Cautiously, Peter walked past, keeping his face towards Tony at all times. “I’m just gonna - I’m gonna go by myself. No need to follow me. I can put myself to bed.”

Tony frowned even deeper, wordlessly watching as Peter fled to his bedroom. Just how abused was this kid? 

Tony thought about the kid’s back. How scarred it was. He thought about the bruises on his face and his comments about sleeping on the floor. And when he thinks about all of this he really should not be surprised by the boy’s reaction but still... to see someone who is usually so smug get so scared all of a sudden... it was as if Peter knew he was doing something wrong. 

He had to have been up to something. Tony turned back towards the car and continued to inspect it. 

Under the seat, to the left, Tony found a briefcase with the bioweapon inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s going on? Is Tony right after all to be suspicious of Peter? Or is it just his past playing tricks on him? 
> 
> Side note: If any of you have ever written a story yourselves, then you might know how it feels when another idea for another story hits you all at once and you’re like, NO! I need to finish my first one. It’s so hard because I always find it best to write when inspiration strikes. But I’m not the type to abandon any of my works. Don’t worry, this story will be finished. But I just hope I can do it justice. Other ideas also steal away from the current story sometimes. I’m going to try not to let that happen!! Who knows, maybe I’ll write two stories at once... and go to classes... and have a part time job... yeah. Well I’m gonna end up doing it anyways because I can’t let it go until I write something! 😅 Anyways, thank you if you read the story and sorry about the long End Note here. Sending lots of love! :)


	7. Step 7: Prove Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I can stop one heart 
> 
> from breaking,
> 
> I shall not live in vain;
> 
> If I can ease one life the aching,
> 
> Or cool one pain
> 
> Or help one fainting robin
> 
> Unto his nest again,
> 
> I shall not live in vain. 
> 
> \- Emily Dickinson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Small mention of child abuse, nothing graphic.

“I’m telling you, I saw him searching around for the bioweapon. Hell, he almost found it.” Tony slapped his hand against the table, startling Bruce and Natasha. 

“Tony, I thought we talked about this? You’re being paranoid.” Bruce piped in. 

“I’m telling you! He was in the car at 2 am last night looking for something. He claimed it was his lighter, but we all know the kid was never in one of those cars before last night, so how the fuck could he have lost one of his lighters in the car?”

“Maybe he was just tired and not thinking straight. I sleepwalk half the time.” Bruce said, trying to ease some of the tension. 

Tony glanced outside the windows to make sure Peter and Steve were still training. He didn’t want to risk them walking in on this very important conversation. 

“He wasn’t sleepwalking. Guys, the kid is dangerous. I think I’ve seen his face somewhere before. Does anyone else think they’ve maybe seen him somewhere before? Maybe in the Black Order?”

“My God, listen to yourself.” Natasha exclaimed. “He’s a _kid_. Peter wasn’t even alive when we joined the Black Order.” 

“You were a kid and you were being trained to be an assassin.” Tony snapped. He knew it was a low blow, but his anger was getting the best of him because absolutely nobody was listening to him.

Maybe Rhodey would. James Rhodes was one of Fury’s FBI agents. He and Tony ran into each other a few years ago. Tony saved his life. Since then, Rhodey has been a good friend, always standing behind Tony in court cases and other legal matters. He’s half the reason Fury cut them the deal in the first place. Like a wise man once said, it’s good to have friends in high places. 

Natasha was still reeling from Tony’s last comment. She couldn’t stand when anyone mentioned how Madame B. raised her to steal and kill, and Tony knew by the look in her eye, he was about to pay for it dearly. 

“Face it. The only reason you don’t like him is because he reminds you of your dead family.”

“Natasha!” Clint barked, and Bruce quickly put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. 

“No, it’s true!” Natasha shouted, “And look, I get it. Okay? I know it’s not easy to remember that type of trauma. I can’t imagine what you went through, but you can’t take it out on everyone else. We’ve let you get away with so much shit for so long! How many times are we going to excuse his behavior because he’s ‘grieving.’”

Tony shook his head, pushing down the anger that bubbled in his chest. He wasn’t going to react emotionally. Tony was a master at charm. He could paste a grin on his face, no matter what, and make it convincing. But he wasn’t going to smile. He wasn’t going to react at all. His only response was his opinion based on facts. 

“I am telling you right now, the kid is up to something. I’m not crazy. I saw him trying to steal the bioweapon, yesterday. For all we know he could be a professional thief trained by the Black Order to steal the bioweapon. Why else was he at the aquatic facility?”

“If that’s true then why did they beat him up?” Clint asked. “I’m sorry, Tones. I hear what you’re saying but it just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Plus,” Natasha added, “I know for a fact he’s not a professional thief. When I was training with him yesterday I could tell he was an amateur. If he was really trained by the Black Order I would have recognized it instantly.”

“He could have been faking it.” Tony dismissed her claim with a wave of his hand. 

“He wasn’t. Trust me.”

“So maybe he works for someone else.” Tony tried, realizing upsettingly that every time he spoke everyone seemed to believe him less and less.

“Tony... I think maybe Nat is right. You’re just trying to find ways to not trust him.” Bruce pointed out quietly. 

“That’s not true. I saw him last night -“

“You don’t know for sure he was trying to steal anything. What if he was just looking for his lighter?” Bruce interjected. He also took a quick peek out the window to make sure they were in the clear. 

“Besides, you did threaten him.” Clint reminded him casually. 

“I did not threaten him.”

“That’s not what he claims.” Clint mumbled. 

“Okay, I told him he should get out of this mess while he still can. That’s not a threat.”

“Ehhh,” Clint titled his hand side to side in a so-so motion, “Depends how you worded it.”

“The point is, Peter is a good person, Tony. He’s sweet and thoughtful and really appreciative that we took him in. Yesterday, he must have thanked me a thousand times.” Natasha explained. 

“He looks up to us,” Bruce added. “Like he really wants to impress us. He tried to show me this card trick of his after I showed him one of my own. It was really cute, you guys should have seen him.”

“Kid gave me a hug like his life depended on it.” Clint said. 

“Well that’s wonderful. If we’re all done playing pretend Mommies and Daddies you’ll realize that not one thing you said disproves my theory.”

“Nothing proves your theory either.”

“Well he practically ran away from me last night. Jumped out of my reach like he was scared I was going to catch him doing something he shouldn’t be doing. You know, like stealing the Bioweapon.”

“That’s because you’re intimidating, Tony. He’s scared of you.” Bruce said.

“Again, it really doesn’t help that you threatened him.” Nat added. 

Tony felt his blood pressure rise. He really wanted to break something, preferably something other than his friend’s faces. 

“I didn’t threaten him.” He growled lowly.

“Maybe if you talked to him about what happened between you and your family you would feel better.”

Tony shook his head rapidly, snorting in disbelief. “You know what? Screw it. You don’t wanna believe me? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when the kid steals Fury’s Bioweapon and we all end up going to jail because of him.”

Picking up his jacket off the back of his chair, Tony scurried towards the side door.

“Tony, where are you going?” Natasha asked but he pretended not to hear her.

He did, however, hear Clint sigh and mutter something about him having trust issues. 

“Can you blame him? After what he’s been through, I’d be surprised if he didn’t.” Natasha whispered. It was the last thing Tony heard before slamming the door shut as hard as he could. _Good riddance_. 

When he was outside in the blazing hot summer sun, Tony could easily hear Steve instructing the kid to climb higher. The boy was in a tree somewhere. Steve was no doubt teaching him surveillance tactics. 

Great idea, Rogers. Teach the kid all of our secrets why don’t you? What could possibly go wrong? Storming past the gate and down the driveway, Tony yanked out his cellphone and dialed the one person he could always count on for a good time. 

“Happy! What’s up, brother. You got time to pick me up?”

“Sure thing, Boss. You got another case?”

“No. I just wanted to hang out with you. How’s some whiskey sound? First round’s on me.”

_____________________

It was a couple hours later and quite a few beers in, when Tony really started to enjoy himself. He and Happy were laughing, telling stories, and ordering drinks for the whole crowd. It was a great afternoon. Whiskey, tequila, beer, and some hardcore vodka. 

The afternoon slowly bled into the evening and Tony was certain neither of them were going to be able to drive home. Happy was having a hard time talking, let alone moving coordinately. The whiskey was beginning to burn the back of their throats, and the beer made Happy gasy, but he tried nonetheless to tell Tony about his pool hustling story. 

“So we get in a fight for it, and because I have boxing experience, it took two seconds and SPLAT.”

“Those are the best hustles, man.”

Happy clanked their glasses together before tilting his head back. “Amen to that.”

When Tony came up for air, after downing his last shot glass of the night, he groaned loudly into his hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Happy slurred. 

“Oh nothing. There’s this kid - Peter. He’s staying with us now.”

“Ahhhh,” Happy nodded. “A new member of the Avengers.”

“I’m afraid so. But the thing is, I don’t trust him.”

Happy hummed. “Do you think maybe it’s because he reminds you of your kid?”

Tony slammed his face against the bar table. “Not you too. Happy! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side, boss. If you don’t trust the runt, then I don’t trust the runt. But at the same time, have you at least given him a chance?”

Surprisingly, those words resonated with Tony despite him being drunk out of his mind. On the taxi drive home, Tony asked the driver to stop at Burger King and he decided to pick up a meal for Peter too. 

Maybe he should try giving this kid a chance? There’s no harm in trying. He would keep an eye on him, of course. But while he was making sure the bioweapon stayed safe, he could also try to get to know the kid better. It was worth a shot. Hey, he had to see the kid everyday now, so at least being nice might make things easier. 

___________________

So when Tony arrived back at the garage he was a new man. He promised Happy he would look at the positives. There had to be a bright side to this situation, right? 

He entered by pulling open the garage door and striding in with food. 

Most of the Avengers were on the couch. Natasha was missing but apart from her, they were all there. Peter was standing over Steve’s shoulder as he read off some paper-work. 

“Wow, you guys commit credit-card fraud with such ease.” Peter commented before slipping his gaze to Tony. 

“Do you like cheeseburgers?” Tony asked, tossing one at Peter’s chest. The kid caught it with remarkable reflexes. 

“Uh, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

“Good answer.” Grinning, Tony walked over to Bruce and deposited the rest of the food in his lap. He was in charge of distributing the meals around here. 

“So,” Tony said, plopping himself on the armrest of Steve’s chair. “What are you watching?”

Peter glanced at the TV and shrugged. “I dunno. Some reality show.”

“It’s called Dancing with the Stars.” Clint said heatedly, before snapping his eyes back on the screen. 

Peter shrugged again and stared at the battered pair of work boots he was wearing - at one time they were Tony’s - but he outgrew the pair and also gave those to the kid. 

“Thank you for the burger, Mr. Stark.” He whispered and shit, Tony’s heart clenched at the words. 

_Mr. Stark_. Fuck, he really did tell Peter to call him that, didn’t he? God, he was such a jerk. Tony was about to say something, most likely tell Peter he didn’t have to call him that, but the boy was already babbling about his day. 

“Steve taught me how to be a look-out.”

“Oh yeah? How did you like it?”

“It was okay. I think I like the sparring with Natasha better.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, she is definitely more fun than old geezer here.”

Steve’s eyebrows quirked in an amusing way before he returned to his paperwork. 

“I ran faster than I did yesterday.” Peter explained, while picking at his burger. He took off the onions and tomatoes. “Steve said I beat his old record by two seconds.”

“Are you going to eat the tomatoes?” 

Peter shook his head. “Nah, they’re gross. Why?”

Tony shrugged. “I like tomatoes.”

“Oh. So do I.” Peter placed them back on his sandwich. 

Tony shouldn’t have smiled so widely at that. But damn it was funny. 

“I thought you just said you didn’t like them?”

“Oh, no, I do.”

“Peter, you don’t have to like everything I like. It’s okay. You can be yourself here.”

Peter was silent, but it was all too clear he wanted to say something. He never did though. He was the silent type, and part of that nature put Tony on edge. Silent types were mysterious. But then again, Tony wasn’t the silent type and he had a messy mysterious past of his own. So maybe he was once again looking for something to blame Peter for.

“There’s soda in the fridge. Help yourself.” 

While the kid walked into the kitchen, Tony yanked the paper’s out of Steve’s hand. 

“I’m trying to be nice. What the hell should I say?”

Steve sat up in his armchair. “Why don’t you train with him? We really bonded over running laps together.”

“I’m not training with him.” Tony snapped. He could try to play nice, but training the kid to be a criminal was not a line he was willing to cross. 

“Okay... um... why don’t you try talking about some of our cases?”

“Is there anything I can talk to him about that doesn’t involve criminal activity?” 

Steve shrugged. “Why don’t you ask him that.”

Tony scoffed, giving Steve a hard shove. “Thanks for the help, _Captain_.”

He went to the refrigerator as well and noticed Peter was sitting on the kitchen counter fumbling with a cigarette. 

“Not a fan of soda?” Tony asked, and Peter shrugged. 

“I like Orange Crush.”

“And we don’t have that. Sorry. I’ll happily buy you some the next time I’m out though.”

Peter shook his head through heavy clouds of unfiltered smoke. “No, don’t worry about it. Besides, I can always practice stealing if I really want one.”

Tony tried not to wince as the chair made a frightening sound when he sat down. It was hard for him to listen to Peter talk about stealing. He didn’t want to think of the kid as a thief. As far as he knew, the boy was innocent. Assuming that was true, and the kid wasn’t secretly working for the Black Order, then Tony didn’t want to be the reason the kid threw his life away. 

“Did they feed you a lot in that foster home of yours?” Tony asked, trying to make conversation. Peter nodded, his mouth working overtime to chew a huge piece of burger all at once. 

“Most of the time, yeah. We would have case workers show up and randomly assess the situation, but the thing is, most of my foster parents were aware of this, so they made sure I had everything that was on the case worker’s list.”

“And food was one of those things?”

“Yup. Doesn’t mean they gave me a lot though. But essentially, my foster parents needed to prove they provided me with food, adequate living arrangements -“

“Meaning?”

“Meaning a bedroom and a roof over my head.”

“Wow. Not exactly rocket science is it?”

“Well you’d be surprised how many foster parents failed the living arrangements check mark.”

Tony shook his head in dismay. “What else was on that checklist?”

“Uh, let’s see, income matters. I’m not sure about that though. They get money for fostering me, but it’s not a lot. They still need to have a certain income for raising a child. Not that any of my foster parents actually used their income on me. They also didn’t use their stipend on me either, but the idea is that they are _supposed_ to.”

“And you’ve been in the system your whole life?”

“Yeah. I can’t remember my real parents at all.” He chomped on a fry while muttering, “It’s probably best that way.”

“Why do you say that?” Tony shifted his weight forward. 

“Oh,” Peter said, and there was a very slight blush to his cheeks. “Nothing. I guess it’s better I don’t remember my parents or else it would be one more painful memory.” 

There were so many memories in Tony’s mind that he wished he could forget, or better yet, never have happened. The kid was right. He was better off not be able to remember. That right there was a blessing. 

“Sorry,” Peter slid off the counter and put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. 

“It’s okay.” Tony whispered. “Hey. Do you want to work on a car with me?” 

Peter’s eyebrows shot the the sky. “Seriously?”

“Only if you want to.”

__________________

In the back room, Tony had Peter leaning over the engine of an old Ford pickup. They were examining it together after listening to the sound it made while testing it. 

He showed Peter each part of the engine, taking his time to explain everything, and saw Peter look at it with a wide-eyed curiosity. It was a nice expression to see on him. 

“So when your looking for the problem you have to first start with what you know about the sound it was making,” Tony explained to the doe-eyed boy, “So I know it could be the spark-plugs or the fuel system because of the loud bang!” Tony smacked his hands together and Peter jumped. “The old thing misfires like a gunshot. So to check the spark-plugs you wanna look right here.”

Peter propped himself up on his elbows and watched Tony as he worked. They chatted about cars for the next two hours and surprisingly everything was pleasant. The kid seemed to think so too because even he went as far as to laugh at Tony’s really horrible jokes.

When they were finished for the night, Tony felt sweaty and gross. He slipped off his black t-shirt and threw it over his shoulder. The kid had grease smudges on his face and it only got worse when he tried to wipe his forehead with a dirty rag. Tony laughed, slinging his arm around the boy’s shoulder. 

“Better not let Nat catch you looking like this. She might hold you under water and scrub your skin raw.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Peter said, but there was a question behind his statement. 

“She’s done it before. Ask Clint.” Tony couldn’t hold back his laugh which immediately eased any of Peter’s growing worries. “Shut-up, Mr. Stark. You’re so not funny.”

Tony went into the refrigerator and pulled out a case of beer. “You want one?”

Peter shrugged. “I never actually had any beer.”

“Really? You smoke, you drink whiskey, but don’t drink beer?”

Peter shrugged. “Almost all of my abusive foster parents used to drink beer so it never seemed very appealing to me. Besides, whiskey is stronger alcohol anyways.”

“Oh. Makes sense,” Tony mumbled. “That Toomes guy... did he drink a lot?”

Peter shook his head gravely. “No. I don’t know what his problem was. He just didn’t like me. Kinda like someone else I know.”

Tony huffed. “Kid, if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have spent the last two hours fixing cars with you.”

Peter grabbed the offered item, and popped open the tap. Before he could take a sip, however, Steve yanked the beer out of his hands. 

“No. You’re not drinking. You’re not even eighteen, let alone twenty-one.” He turned towards Tony, giving him the best what-the-hell looks. 

“Oh come on, Steve. He’s sixteen. Let him have a little taste.”

“No.” Steve said firmly. “He shouldn’t even be smoking. He’s going to get lung cancer.”

“So we might as well add alcohol poisoning to the mix.” Tony joked, but Steve was not amused. 

“Tony, it’s not funny.”

“It’s beer. You’re the one that’s teaching him how to get himself killed, and yet you’re yelling at me for giving him a beer?”

“Peter. I think it’s time you go to bed.” Steve said, never taking his eyes off of Tony. “Me and Tony need to have a little chat.” 

They were going down a steep and narrow road in their friendship, and Tony knew this conversation needed to happen - it’s been needing to happen for a while now - but one look at the kid’s face and Tony knew that this wasn’t the right time. 

Peter was stiff, his face closing off, eyes flashing to Steve dark and defensive. “I didn’t do anything.” 

It was a statement said firmly, but his voice had a tremor to it, one that threatened an emotional breakdown, and Tony had no idea why. 

“I never said you did.” Steve said, still refusing to spare Peter a glance. He was too busy drilling holes into Tony’s head. 

Peter clenched his fists and brought one of them to his mouth. 

Tony attempted to mask his horror as the kid started shaking like he was standing in the middle of Antarctica in a tank top. His teeth were chattering when he removed that fist in his mouth and began to scratch at his arms. Tony thought maybe he was trying to rub his arms in a self-comforting way, but in reality he was rubbing himself raw. 

“Peter -“ Tony began, but the boy cut him off with a sharp shout. 

“No! I didn’t do anything.”

Now Steve was looking at the kid too, realizing for the first time that something was wrong. 

“I know you didn’t.” He said softly, and Peter sort of deflated. His mouth shut, clamping down on whatever else he was going to say. 

“Okay,” he whispered, his arms finally going still. Thankfully the scratches left behind weren’t deep. “Sorry.” He seemed to go a little shy now, ducking his head. 

“You’re fine.” Tony said. His parental instincts were telling him to do more, but the other part of Tony shut down those thoughts as quickly as they arose. That was the old Tony. Bionic, insides-made-of-metal Tony was not going to soothe this child. He couldn’t even remember how to soothe a child. 

“Why don’t you head to bed. We can talk about it a minute.” Steve suggested. 

At least Steve could take on the parental responsibility that Tony was severely lacking. But once again Peter froze. “Please stop saying that.” He hissed. “I don’t want to go to bed.”

And well shit, if Tony didn’t know any better he would say Peter sounded like an impetuous toddler who was throwing a tantrum because he didn’t want to sleep. But luckily, Tony did know better. He knew something else was bothering the kid. 

“Well it’s late, and I need to talk to Tony. Why are you arguing with me?” Steve asked. “You’ve been nothing but polite and kind since you got here. What’s with this newfound attitude.”

Peter closed his eyes. “Sor - Sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” Peter opened his eyes again. “I am grateful you let me stay here.” He could say that part confidently.

“Good. Well alright then.” Steve said, shooing him away. Tony couldn’t believe what he just witnessed Steve do. Son of a bitch couldn’t take over the parental side of things because he apparently had no parental skills whatsoever. 

Peter spun on his heels and began climbing the wide wooden staircase. Tony watched as he made it to the top, and waited patiently until he heard the faint clicking of the door before turning back to Steve.

“What the hell was that?”

Steve shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing. I’ve never seen someone get so worked up over a can of beer before.”

“No, not that. I’m talking about his reaction. I’m talking about _your_ reaction. The poor thing was trembling to death and you just kicked him to the curb.”

“Why is he so freaked out about going to bed?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know, Steve. You would have to ask him that. But that’s right, you don’t want to soothe his worries, you just want to yell at me!”

“You don’t want to soothe his worries, either. If you did, you would have done it already. Why does it have to be my job?”

“Because your the one that wants him here.”

“You want him here.” Steve said, “Well, at least, you want to give him beer and treat him like he’s here to do our auto-work.”

“Oh that is condescending coming from you!” Tony spat, stepping closer to Steve’s face. “You’re the one that’s using him to steal shit for us. I might be using him to help with the cars, but at least it’s legal. You’re the one ruining his life, Steve.”

“I’m teaching him to protect himself.”

“You’re training him the exact same way the Black Order trained us.”

“Open your eyes, Tony! He is us!” Steve shouted. “We were all exactly like him. And don’t you think it would have been nice if someone like us would have come along and prevented us from going to the Black Order?”

“Look.” Tony said, quieting his voice. “All I’m saying, is we might be just as bad of an influence on him.”

“Depends how we train him. Hell, it depends how we raise him. He’s still young enough for us to teach him some values but you gotta be ready to do that.”

“What are you saying? I have to treat him like my son.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“I can’t do that, Steve. You know I can’t do that. So the kid might as well leave.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it for you.” Steve said, brushing past his shoulder as he walked towards the staircase. 

“Oh yeah. Cause you’ve been doing a bang-up job so far.” Tony snapped. “You really took care of him five minutes ago.”

“At least I didn’t try to give him beer.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered under his breath. “It was just a sip. Like you never took a sip of beer when you were sixteen.”

“Actually, I never did.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Tony rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. He needed a long sleep. Hopefully his nightmares would gone now that he was on better terms with Peter.

He never got the chance to find out because Peter was screaming his head off the second Steve walked into his room. Tony bolted upstairs to see what Steve was doing wrong now, but oddly enough when he got there, Steve was just standing in the doorway. 

“I don’t know what happened.” Steve turned to Tony helplessly. “He just stared screaming.”

“Peter.”

“Stop!” Peter screeched, stretching his hand out as far as it would go. “Just - just leave me alone!”

Tony’s never heard him so scared. This was the same kid that took a beating in absolute silence by his foster father. 

“I just want to talk to you.” Steve said and Peter flinched violently. It was as if Steve’s words were a huge threat. Steve might as well have said, ‘I want to shoot you.” Because the kid’s reaction would have been more realistic if Steve had said that. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, shifting even further back as Tony and Steve moved closer. Tony stopped his movements. The kid was jumpy just like the night before. Like he thought Tony was going to hit him.

A realization dawned on him, Peter was having another random freak-out moment similar to Bruce, but instead of getting angry he gets jumpy. The best thing to do would be to halt all movement. 

Before Tony could share his realization, Steve made the unfortunate mistake of stepping closer. 

Peter screamed in a high pitch shrill, and threw his head under the covers, shuttering violently. 

“Jesus!” Steve flinched. “Calm down.”

“D-Don’t -” He gasped out between ragged breaths. 

“Shit, Pete, you need to breathe.” Tony yanked the covers off of him and grunted as Peter kicked him in the stomach. 

It hurt, but Tony had taken worse. 

“Hey, sit up.” Tony muttered, trying to grab the kid’s flailing limbs. 

“Get off of me!” Peter’s voice seeped desperation. He really thought they were going to hurt him. 

“Stop kicking me.” He growled, wrestling with Peter’s thrashing arms. 

Tony took a few smacks in the face and chest, but at long last, he managed to secure Peter’s wrists within his grasp and pin them to the bed. 

“No, no, NO!” Peter struggled desperately. He was petrified out of his mind at this point. “Stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His face was beat red as he struggled against Tony’s hold. “Let me go. Let me go, _please_ , let me go.”

“Peter, listen to me. You’re having an episode of some sort. I need you to focus on me. Can you do that? Listen to my voice.” Tony spoke slowly and calmly waiting for the boy to register it. 

Peter must have been able to process some of it because he looked up at Tony’s face, and tried to focus. 

“That’s it. Just focus on me. Can you stop clawing my arm please?”

Peter was scratching at Tony’s arm so badly it was bleeding, but again, Tony kept his grasp on the boy firm. He could worry about the cuts later. 

At the sight of his nails against Tony’s skin, Peter immediately removed his fingers onto his own arm, and began hugging himself, rubbing his arms comfortingly. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He whispered, still staring at Tony’s arm. 

“I’m fine. Just a little scratch. Why don’t you take a deep breath for me.”

He was relieved when Peter did as he was told, nearly choking on air when his body resisted the attempt to calm down. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just like that. You’re doing really good. I know it’s hard. You worked yourself up, but you’re calming down, huh?”

After a long while, with many hiccups and shaky gulps of air later, Peter was able to get his breathing slowed to a much steadier pace.

“Sorry,” he whispered, feeling guilty for freaking out like that, and maybe embarrassed as well if his red face was anything to go by. “I don’t know why I - I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Do you wanna tell me what was going through your mind?”

Peter shook his head slowly. This time, Tony was going to press. He needed answers, even if it meant digging up some bad memories. 

“Why did you think we were going to hurt you.” Tony asked more directly. 

“Cause that’s what happens whenever I go to sleep.”

He tried not to look stunned at the response, but it was hard to hear. 

Reaching in search for the covers, Peter pulled them over his shoulders and laid down against the white pillow case. 

“Did that Toomes guy hurt you before you went to sleep?” Tony asked, already planning ways to burry the man’s body without getting caught.

“Yeah... he said... he said I needed to be kept in line. I don’t know why, but he beat me every night before I went to bed. I was good too. I did what he said and he still beat me with a belt. When I did something wrong he would beat me during the day and at night. It didn’t use to bother me that much. I mean, I got used to it, you know? Like at first it hurt so bad I felt like I was going to die. But then, the pain went away after a while and it started to become routine. My body adapted. I could take it more and more without feeling so violently ill. But - I guess since I’ve been here - my body has been thrown off balance? I don’t know. I guess this is the first time I’ve had a chance to think about it, rather than just survive it. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. I’ll shut up. It’s just - going to bed scares me. Yes, I know, I sound like a freaking toddler.” He huffed, kicking at the sheets. 

“No, no, you’re not rambling.” Tony rasped. “You’re fine, kid.” He sucked in a breath. “Thanks for uh - telling us that. I can tell you, I know exactly how you’re feeling. I’ve been there before with the whole body adapting to pain thing, and just trying to survive.”

“Me too.” Steve agreed. “When I was beaten in the alley, I got used to it too. Then when the Black Order saved me, that’s when I got to finally heal some old scars. Unfortunately the Black Order caused a lot of new ones. We hope we don’t do that to you.” Steve finished lamely, feeling suddenly the weight of their earlier conversation come crashing down. 

Tony nodded in agreement and tucked the thick white blanket around Peter’s sides as the kid shifted further into bed. “You’re safe here.” Tony whispered, “That’s the new thing you gotta keep telling yourself before bed. It might help.”

“Is that what you do?”

Tony smiled. “Sort of. I tell myself a lot of things before I sleep.” 

“Mr. Stark? Can I have some water.”

“Kid, you don’t have to keep calling me that. It's okay. I was being a jerk and -“

“I like it.” Peter whispered. “It’s different. I’ve never called anyone Mister before, except for a few teachers.”

A warm feeling washed over Tony’s chest. “Okay. If you like it, you can call me it. I do have to ask something... did anyone ever try anything else with you before you ‘went to bed.’”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Tony sighed. How should he go about asking this?

“No one tried to touch you, right? I mean, not beat you, but -“

The kid’s face went scarlet red. “No! God, no. Never.”

“Okay. Good. Good. You sure.”

“I’m sure. Yeah, I never even thought about that. But I guess I could have happened. Man, I’m lucky.”

Tony snorted. “I dunno, being beaten every night sounds pretty fucking bad.”

Peter nodded his agreement. “Mr. Stark. Can I have some water?”

“Oh yeah, yeah of course. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Peter whispered, eyelids already fluttering closed. 

Tony got him the water anyways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about any potential errors in this chapter. I was rushing.


	8. Step 8: Get Your Anger Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish someone  
> had warned me  
> when I was younger,  
> now I stay up all night and weep;  
> the ghosts of everything  
> you have loved and lost  
> come back to haunt you in your sleep.  
> \- Nikita Gill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter WARNINGS: some heavy stuff is discussed in this chapter such as death, mild self-harm/(a hulk out scene which would be equivalent to a serious rage episode) and a very mild suggestion of suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> It is all mild, but make sure you take care of yourselves. Your mental health is important!!! :)
> 
> Now onwards to the story!!! :)

When you get punched in the face, the pain lingers. It doesn’t hurt at first. Not as badly as you might think. It aches for a moment and then you forget about it. Mainly because your mind is preoccupied with either fighting back or protecting yourself. That adrenaline you feel, it keeps you from feeling pain. But afterwards, when the fight is over and the threat is long gone, and you’re laying in bed replaying your memories, the pain comes back. It doesn’t sting brand new, or hurt worse than before, but it’s constant. Forever. You have this dull aching on your cheek where the punch landed. Sure the next few weeks it “goes away.” Or so you think. But years later, usually at night, that dull aching pain resurfaces on your body as if to say, “I’m still here and I’m never going away.” It is a quiet reminder of the past, one that lingers, just like the memories.

Tony thinks that’s what’s happening to Peter. Maybe he can’t sleep cause he’s got this lingering pain. Either literally or metaphorically, it didn’t matter, but Tony would bet money on it, that Peter’s past is the reason for his late night adventures through the garage. At least, that’s what he hoped was happening. 

Because he caught Peter searching through one of the cars again two nights after the kid had his panic episode up in the bedroom, and Tony could only blame it on Peter’s trauma. It has to be the reason. Anything else would make him look very suspicious. 

He said he was beaten every night before bed, so maybe Peter liked to stay up at night and search the place to keep his mind occupied. 

Tony had spent the last three days working on cars with Peter. Sure the kid trained during the day, but in the evening, the two of them were jamming to AC/DC and fixing engines. They would eat chips, make jokes, and just talk about cool stuff. Tony would talk about some cool dude stuff, but Peter didn’t venture far from discussing music, books, and movies. Man oh man did the kid love movies. He also liked the music Tony was into - that is - if he’s ever heard it before.

“So why does your T-Shirt say Black Sabbath.”

“It’s a band.”

“It is?”

Despite the aneurysms Peter gave him, spending time with the kid was the best feeling in the world. It was also the closest Tony has felt to him since he arrived. So last night was rather heartbreaking when he found the kid snooping through the garage again. 

Just when Tony thought things were going well, Peter had to ruin it by snooping for that damn bioweapon. Again, Tony was going to blame it on the kid’s abuse. He was going to pretend Peter _wasn’t_ looking for the bioweapon. The kid wasn’t snooping, Tony told himself over and over again. He was just too afraid to go to sleep. 

It was a nice story. If Tony tried hard enough, he could make himself believe it was true. 

Right now, he was fixing a bowl of Frosted Flakes. They always had a bunch of cereal boxes in the garage, and recently Tony’s been having fun playing this game where he gives Peter a whole bunch of options for breakfast but keeps a towel over them so the kid doesn’t know which one he’s choosing. It’s been a successful game so far; Peter’s enjoyed it throughly.

Already, Tony stocked up on Orange Crush, the kid’s favorite soda, and he got those little Twix bars that the boy loved. But putting seven different boxes of sugary cereal in front of him was the most thrilling because Peter took serval minutes describing why he liked each one and explaining why he thought which box was under which towel. It was hilarious. 

Today he ultimately settled on Frosted Flakes so that’s what Tony was handing him.

Peter stuffed a spoonful in his mouth “Mmm. Did I mention how much I love this?”

“So you said.” Tony turned back to the counter to make his bowl of Cheerios. When he turned around, Peter had his phone out, his lips plastered together in concentration as his thumbs typed out a long message. 

Bruce walked in the room drumming on the kitchen counter. “I am fired up today!” He shouted giving Tony a high-five. He turned to give one to Peter but the kid was occupied with his phone. “Who are you texting?” 

Immediately, he snapped his phone screen off. “No one! I was - uh - playing a video game.”

“Lying needs work, kid. If you’re going to do this job, you better work on that.” Bruce scolded. 

Peter shook his head. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Are you ready to train with me?” Bruce asked, completely ignoring the other subject. 

“Yes sir! All ready.” He stood from the table, going over to Bruce’s side to give him a fist pump. 

“You didn’t finish your cereal.” Tony shouted, but Peter and Bruce were already heading out the door. 

“It will be soggy by the time you get back! Dammit.”

Bruce popped his head back through the door. “Why don’t you help me train Peter? Then he can eat his cereal while we show him how combat is done.”

Bruce has never asked too much of Tony. And deep down, Tony knew the question was meant to be harmless, but he still felt like it was crossing a line. He doesn’t want to train Peter to become a criminal. He just doesn’t. 

“No,” Tony said, flatly. “Thanks, but I’ll just work on the cars.”

“Are you sure? Come on, Tones, it’s been a while since you’ve had any real action.”

“And yet my legs are still recovering from that million mile marathon I ran at the aquatic facility.”

Bruce sighed. “Suit yourself, but Peter could learn a lot from you.”

“I’m working on the cars,” Tony said, leaving no room for an argument. Bruce closed the door a minute later and Tony went to work for a while until Steve came bursting through the garage door like a lunatic.

He was shouting A-ha, and skipping towards his office, kissing a piece of paper in his hands. 

“Tony! Fury just called. We got another case.” Steve rushed into his office to grab a bunch of papers. 

“What? I thought he was still out of town?”

“Yeah, Fury’s still gone, but he got word that the Black Order was planning an attack on the elegant Charity Gala being held at the MoMA PS1’s museum in Queens. Can you believe it? A Charity Gala! I might actually get to eat delicious food for once in my life.”

“An attack? Do you mean like a thieving attack?” 

“Fury mentioned something about a 10 million dollar piece of art being auctioned off, so I’m assuming it’s a thieving thing, yeah. Plus, that’s kinda the Black Order’s M.O.”

“Ten million dollars? Shit. Are you sure we don’t want to keep that little piece of art for ourselves?” Tony replied with a goofy grin.

“You know we can’t, Tony.”

“I was joking. Come on. You couldn’t tell?” He waggled his eyebrows, but Steve didn’t bat an eyelash. “No? Okay then - I’ll go collect the team.”

“Hold it, Tony.” Steve said with his all serious expression. “I also got word that the bastard that shot Clint is going to be there.”

“Trick shot? You’re kidding?”

Steve scoffed. “Don’t do him any favors by using that nickname. We all know his real name is Buck Chisholm.”

“But old Buck sure knew how to throw a trick shot, don’t you think? Fuck, he taught Barton everything he knows about the bow and arrow.”

“Yeah, and I taught him everything about martial arts and hand-to-hand combat but you don’t see me going around giving myself a nickname.” Steve huffed.

“Oh you mean a nickname like Captain?” 

Steve tried to glare, but even he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading. “That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

“Whatever,” Steve held up his hand. “The point is Trick Shot is going to be there. Do we tell Clint or not?”

“Hell yeah, we could use his archery skills.”

“All right. Gather everyone. Oh and tell Peter he needs to wear his gloves for this mission. I’m going to have him climbing.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Wait a second. We’re not taking the kid with us.”

“Oh God, Tony. Don’t start this shit again.” Steve groaned. 

“I’m not trying to start any shit, okay? I’ve been getting along with the kid recently and it’s fine if he trains with us, but to go on a mission? Are you out of your mind?”

“Well that’s kinda what we’ve been training him for, isn’t it?”

“No!” Tony roared. “We’ve been training him to defend himself.”

“No - first of all, you haven’t trained him at all - second, the rest of us have been training him to fight for moments like this one.”

“To fight? You mean to die!”

“For the love of God -“

“No, don’t you dare tell me you think this kid can go against the most skilled set of versatile criminals in the world -“

“That’s an overstatement-“

“who have had _years_ to learn from other skilled criminals -“

“Not years, more like months.”

“- and what? You think this kid is just gonna miraculously stop them after his one week of training?”

“Sure, why not? We did.”

“We had years of training! He’s not ready.”

“Peter said he stole before. That’s sorta like training.” Steve was really pushing for this. 

“He stole from a fucking candy store. Anyone can do that! My four-year-old daughter could do that.”

“Look Tony. I think Peter should come. But if you’re so persistent that he stay, I say we put it up for a vote, only this time, we let Peter vote as well since he’ is an Avenger now.”

“He is **_not_** an Avenger.” Venom was oozing from Tony’s voice. 

“Okay, okay. Fine. We’ll vote as a team but without Peter. Does that make you happy?”

“Yes.” Tony said. Because he knew at least the other members of his team would have more common sense than Steve. 

___________________

At least, Tony _thought_ his team had more common sense, but evidently they _**did not**_ , considering most of them -except for Clint- voted for Peter to attend the mission. 

Steve was briefing them, but all Tony could focus on was his pounding headache. He needed a beer. 

“I’m going to kill Trick Shot.” Clint growled, slapping his hand against the table.

“Just calm down. You know we have to handle these things delicately.” Steve reminded him. “Now, I have Peter positioned on the roof. Natasha is going to be our inside gal. She’ll work people, and see if she can spot Trick Shot in the crowd.”

“That jackass,” Clint spat his tobacco onto the floor. “He better hope I don’t see him.”

“Okay, I gotta ask, who is Trick Shot?” Peter pipped in, and Clint glared at the floor. 

“He’s my old master. The Black Order gave us each someone to learn from, and Trick Shot was my leader. He taught me how to wield the bow and arrow. And then the son of a bitch shot me with my own weapon.”

“Why?” Peter rested his elbows on the table. 

“Because I wanted to leave the Black Order.”

“This was before the Avengers were created.” Steve added. 

“Yeah,” Clint chewed a new piece of tobacco. “See, unlike all the rest of them, I joined the Black Order willingly. I was an orphan working in a circus and I left that world behind me when my brother died. I wanted a new life, and I didn’t care how messy it was. So I went looking for the Black Order.”

“Meaning, he caused hell for a few street gangs and that’s how he got introduced to the Black Order.” Steve once again added. 

“That’s what I said.”

“You said you went looking for them. But they found you. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever. I still joined willingly.” Clint said, rolling his eyes. 

“We all did, Clint.”

“Well unlike the rest of you, I wasn’t vulnerable at the time.”

“You lost your brother. You were vulnerable as hell.” 

“FINE! Whatever. The point is, I told them I would work for them and life was great until it wasn’t no more and I wanted out. But I realized, once you were a part of the Black Order, there was no out.” 

“So they tried to kill you?” Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Yeah. Shot me right in the heart. Thank God I was wearing a protective vest underneath.”

“How did you know to wear a vest?”

Clint pointed his pinky finger at Tony. “This guy told me to.”

Peter whipped his head in Tony’s direction. “How did you know?” 

“I saw it happen before.” Tony said with a shrug, “I used to work with this partner - he taught me a hell of a lot - and anyways, he wanted to leave because the idiot got his wife pregnant and he wanted to start a family.” Tony explained. “But Norman Osborne wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“Norman Osborn?” 

“He’s one of the shareholders in the Black Order’s operations. Some people claim he’s actually the boss and not Ebony Maw. I agree with those people.” Steve said. 

“Me too,” Tony mumbled. At last, something he and Steve could agree upon. Norman Osborne was scum, but he was highly skilled and incredibly smart. He was so devious, Tony knew instantly - the very first time he met the man - that he was the boss. 

“He killed my partner right in front of me. Shot him in the head. Then he killed his wife and his newborn baby boy.”

“Oh my God.” Natasha whispered. “You never told me he went after his wife and child.”

“I didn’t want to burden you with the details.” Tony mumbled. “But yeah... watching Osborne kill my partner - my friend - just for wanting a family... it made me hate the man’s guts.”

“Shit Tony, please tell me you didn’t walk in and see the woman and her baby dead. Especially not after what happened with your wife and child.”

“I didn’t see anything. I just heard the rumor the next day.”

“But you witnessed your partner die?” Peter sucked in a breath. The kid was struggling to process all this. Tony understood. At the time, it was hard for him to process too. But like fine wine, it got better with time. Still, the memory sticks to him like adhesive hot glue. 

“Yeah. He was a good man. Didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shrugged off the boy’s sympathies. “It was the life we chose. We knew what we were signing up for. After witnessing my partner’s death, I warned Clint that he might get shot at if he tried to leave so Clint wore a vest.”

“And I did get shot at - by my own friend. Fucking Trick Shot. I’m taking him down,” Clint slapped his fist in his hand. 

“I don’t understand, if they tried to shoot you for leaving, why aren’t they trying to kill you now?” Peter asked. 

“Oh believe me, I’m sure they would love to kill us if they knew where we lived. But see, the thing with Norman Osborne is he’s all about the mission. And if the mission doesn’t involve us dead, then he doesn’t care. All he cares about is controlling his group of monkeys and forcing them to steal things that he can use for his business. Osborne is an illegal arms dealer. But he also dabbles in other illegal business trades. I’m pretty sure he wants to essentially rule the criminal underworld.” 

Peter soaked in everything like a sponge. But there was something weird in his eye. He had this tiny twitch, like he was skeptical of what they were telling him for the first time. Peter tugged his worn-out denim jacket closer to his chest, huddling himself in the safety of it’s warmth. 

“The Black Order tried to burn down Steve’s home after he left,” Natasha explained, “And they’ve given us quiet a few beatings whenever we’ve had the pleasure of running into them, but we’re all trained which is the only reason we’re all alive.” 

Peter began playing with his black gloves which were cut at the tips, and smelled like smoke. “This Norman Osborne guy can’t be all bad, right?” 

Bruce, who was in the middle of slurping a huge mound of Ramen noodles, paused. He looked up at Peter, scowling as the kid continued to speak.

“I mean... if he’s not making it his mission to kill us then that’s a good thing, you know? I’m sure Osborne isn’t a terrible person.”

In a blur, Bruce was on his feet, sending his chair crashing to the ground.

Oh great, Tony rolled his eyes, Bruce was about to throw one of his angry fits. Just what they needed right now. Everyone leaped to their feet to stop him. Natasha was reaching out, but before she could touch him, Bruce raised two fists high in the air and crashed them down onto the center of the table, efficiently cracking it in half.

“Aw shit.” Clint cursed under his breath. 

“Whoa! Big guy, take it easy.” Steve exclaimed. When Bruce could no longer be the voice of reason, Steve always tried to take over. “No. Put that down!”

In a fit of rage, Bruce lifted a wooden chair and sent it flying across the room, wizzing past Tony’s head. 

“Watch it!” He screamed, shaking his fist at the son of a bitch. He almost knocked his head clean off. 

“Norman Osborne is a HORRIBLE PERSON.” Bruce’s entire body was trembling from head to toe. 

“I know, I know.” Natasha soothed, “But he’s not here. Everything’s okay.”

Gritting his teeth together, Bruce stepped back, stumbling towards the window. He looked lost and dazed, as if he weren’t seeing anything in the present moment, but was somehow seeing the past. 

They all winced as Bruce brought his hand through the glass window, the sharp noise ringing out as shards rained to the floor. Well... Tony always hated that window anyways. 

“Bruce!” Steve screamed cringing at the sight. “We need to calm him down. Someone get the tranquilizers.”

“On it,” Natasha said, running into the bathroom to grab the medical supplies.

There was a loud moaning, almost unearthly wailing noises coming from the back of Bruce’s throat as he began to stomp his feet on the glass, crushing it more and more beneath his shoes. Thank God he had shoes. 

“Fucking - piece of shit! I hate him. I HATE HIM.”

It was overdramatic, but breakdowns were never pretty. It didn’t make them less real, or less painful to witness. Tony hated when Bruce got like this. He hated hearing his friend moan out in pain like a wounded animal howling to wake the dead. 

“It’s gonna be okay, man. Just chill.” Clint mumbled, awkwardly turning his back to the scene. 

Sinking to his knees, Bruce crunched the glass under his hands. The ground was wet under him, from blood that was leaking out of his hand. They needed to stop him before he seriously hurt himself. There was aleady a lot of blood.

“Bruce -“ Steve attempted to step closer, but Bruce lashed out with a kick, sending Steve to the floor with a sickening thud. 

“His weapons killed my family.” Bruce seethed, the veins in his neck throbbing as he crawled towards Steve. “He is a monster.”

Bruce couldn’t control himself, he placed his hand on Steve’s chest and held him down, not caring if he was hurting him, or if he was transferring broken glass from his hands onto Steve’s skin. 

“I want to kill him.” Bruce moved his glass hands onto Steve’s throat. “I want to kill him!”

“Whoa!” Tony and Clint immediately leaped into action, and grabbed his hand before he could squeeze Steve’s neck and slice it wide open. 

But damn Bruce was strong, and when he wanted to be left alone, he was able to push just about anyone away from him.

“Knock it off!”

Clint and Tony fell to the floor in a heap. But luckily, Steve managed to move himself out of the way in time for Natasha to return from the bathroom with a syringe in her hand.

“Hey big guy, the sun is getting real low.”

Bruce growled, not caring about Natasha’s code words for ‘you need to calm the fuck down or I’ll put you to sleep.’

He stood to his feet and Steve rolled out of his way to avoid being stepped on. Bruce was running towards Natasha now, ready to swipe his hand back and whip the syringe to the floor. He almost succeeded, but Natasha was quick. She flipped out of the way to avoid being hit. 

Her little escape attempt didn’t get her very far though. Bruce reached out and snatched her wrist, easily keeping the syringe far away from him as he squeezed. Nat gasped at the red hot pain. He was going to break her wrist. 

That’s when a heavy container of Ramen noodles hit Bruce in the back of the head. 

“Hey buddy, you might wanna calm down now.” It was Peter. He was on his feet, near the table and he was wearing a playful smile on his face. “If you’re going to beat somebody up, it might as well be me.”

Bruce let out a low feral growl, like he was some type of animal, and spun his head towards Peter, releasing Natasha’s wrist. 

“What’s the matter? I thought you liked noodles?” Peter tossed another container at him, but Bruce caught it midair and crushed the container in his fist.

“Oh I guess maybe not.” 

Before Bruce could attempt to lunge at Peter, Natasha inserted the syringe in his arm. 

“Sorry big guy, but you gotta rest now.” She whispered as Bruce wobbled to the floor. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he crashed in Natasha’s arms and sat with her on the ground. “That’s it, just close your eyes.” She whispered. 

An uneasy silence fell over the group.

“That was intense.”

Steve turned to Peter, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Did you just use my training tactic on Bruce?”

Peter shrugged. “You said creating a distraction was sometimes useful in extreme situations. I thought I’d give it a try.” 

“Oh he is definitely going on this mission.” Steve said to the rest of the group. “Queens is a natural.”

_________________

“So you’ve never played darts?” Clint asked as he hung a red and white circled board onto the wall. 

While Bruce was currently unconscious, the rest of the Avengers were trying to keep themselves occupied because they couldn’t go over the plan until Bruce woke up. 

Steve left the garage to buy Tylenol and Advil for the headache he knew Bruce would have, meanwhile, Natasha was still sitting on the floor next to Bruce, carding her hand through his hair. 

That left Tony, Peter and Clint. They spent a long time talking about what had just happened. Tony and Clint were trying to convince Peter that Bruce had a lot of triggers and that he freaks out a lot. But Peter was convinced he said something terrible and was never going to speak to Bruce again.

The best thing to do would be to tell Peter the truth about what Bruce went through. But that wasn’t their choice to make. Neither Tony nor Clint could tell his story. So they tried to distract Peter the best they could. And the genius that is Clint decided it would be a good idea to play darts. Now don’t get him wrong, Tony enjoyed a good game of darts, but darts happened to be Clint’s specialty. The man never lost, not even when he had the stomach flu. So playing darts became one of Tony’s least favorite things to do. 

“No, I never have.” Peter, who was hunched up in the corner of the room with his laptop, looked at them with curiosity. “Can you teach me?”

“Absolutely.” Clint grinned, and Tony leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed. This should be interesting. Clint never revealed his tricks, but if he was willing to now, then maybe darts would start to be more enjoyable again. 

“Darts is like, knife throwing. We usually play it in bars to rack up some cash. It’s like a rite of passage into manhood, after your first drink of course.” Clint gestures towards the can of beer sitting on the table. 

“But Steve said -“

“Steve’s not here.” Clint winked. Tony raised his eyebrows in an amused way and watched as Peter slowly walked over to the beer and took a sip. 

“Good. Now check this out. You stand here, behind this line I made, and you just aim the dart and throw.”

So much for helpful advice. “I thought you were going to teach him to play?” 

“I am teaching him to play, not win. Don’t be ridiculous, Stark. I never reveal my secrets.” Tony smirked at his feet, shaking his head softly. 

“C’mere.” Clint ushered Peter to the spot and handed him a dart. “Okay, try to hit the center.”

Tony watched as the kid tried to line up the dart with the target before sending it crashing into the board. At least he hit the board, it was just the very far end. 

“All right, move over kid. Let me show you how it’s done.” Clint cracked his knuckles and lined his dart with the board. In quick succession, the darts flew one by one straight into the middle of the board. “OHHHH!” Clint high-fived Peter and started dancing. “Did you see that? That’s badass, bro. That’s why they call me Hawkeye.”

“No one calls him that.” Tony called out to the chuckling boy.

“Excuse me? I’m sure someone out there calls me that.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“I dunno. Sam? Rhodey?”

Tony shook his head then said, “Maybe Sam. But that’s only because he wants to be called The Falcon.”

“Why does everyone have these super cool made-up names? I want one.” Peter exclaimed.

“You’re Queens. That’s what Steve calls you.”

“But that’s not cool. I want a name based on my skill set like you.”

Tony laughed loudly, “Then I guess you’ll have to develop some skills before we give you a name.”

Peter nodded, and it never failed to amaze Tony how seriously Peter took him. For real, Tony could tell the kid to walk on his hands for a whole day, and Peter would do it. He never questioned him.

There was a low groan from the corner of the room where Bruce was twitching. 

“Hey,” Natasha’s fingers were on his bicep, “You’re okay.”

And this - this was the worst part. Tony could barely bring himself to watch as Bruce’s eyes opened and he looked at them with a mixture of emotions - confusion, hurt, sadness, and a vulnerability that made him feel so horribly exposed. 

“Wha- what happened?”

Bruce won’t remember smashing the window, or the shards of glass that tore through his flesh. He won’t remember when or why he snapped. He just knows he’s done something bad - something he couldn’t control, and that’s the part Tony can’t stand. It hurts him to see his friend so broken apart because of his anger. 

Bruce viewed his bandaged hands, limp in his lap, watching blood ooze from one of the gashes that wasn’t covered by the bandage. Natasha reached for his hand, holding it gingerly in her own. Bruce’s eyes scanned the disastrous mess in the room: cracked table, broken chair, smashed window, bloody glass, ramen noodles on the floor, and he knew. He knew he was the culprit behind the mess.

“I’m sorry,” He could not meet Natasha’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t know why.”

“Shhh,” Natasha’s fingers brushed through his hair, but Bruce pulled away. He didn’t think he deserved any comfort. So Natasha retreated. She respected his space, even if she didn’t agree with his way of thinking. 

“Did I hurt anybody?” He swallowed a rising lump in his throat. 

“Just your hands.” Natasha said, quick to soothe him. 

“Good.” A soft warm breeze wafted through the garage when Steve opened the panel door, beams of his Jeep shining in their eyes. He was carrying two bags when he walked in, and shut the door behind him.

“Hey, good, you’re awake.” Steve tossed him a bottle of Advil. “I got more tranqs too.”

“So this has happened before.” Peter whispered. “It wasn’t completely my fault?”

Steve frowned. “No, no, it wasn’t your fault at all.” 

“Well he did try to defend Norma -“

“Shhhh!” Everyone in the room screamed at Clint, trying to shut him up fast. 

“Don’t say his name.” Natasha gestured towards Bruce. 

“Right. Sorry.” Clint apologized before going back to his dart board. 

“I didn’t know he was such a horrible guy.” Peter’s voice was rising in pitch. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I really am.”

“Oh, no. Don’t be, kid. I’m the one that’s sorry. I probably scared the hell outta you.”

“Actually Peter handled himself pretty well.” Steve smiled. 

“Yeah, he threw a container of noodles at your head.” Tony explained with a shrug. 

“Damn. Should I be mad or proud?” Peter flushed sheepishly. 

“Proud,” Steve said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Our little protege is going to be amazing next week. Now, speaking of next week. We really need to go over this mission.”

“Right now?” Nat sent Steve a sharp glare. “Really, Steve?”

“Yes, really. We can’t exactly wait.”

“You know we have a whole week to prepare.” She muttered. 

“And we’re going to need to use every minute of it.”

Clint sighed. “I think - before we talk about the mission - Bruce should tell Peter why he hates you-know-who so much.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Natasha roared. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Bruce needs to rest.”

“It’s okay.” Bruce pushed himself to his feet, and leaned against the wall for support. “He deserves to know.”

“Bruce, are you sure? You don’t have to talk about this. What if it sends you into another fit.”

“Then use the tranquilizer faster, Dammit.” Bruce look at his feet. “It’s important Peter knows what a terrible man Osborne is.” Natasha threw her hands up in defeat and stalked over to one of the chairs. 

Bruce rested his head against the wall, panting. “I don’t know what I said when I was freaking out, but Norman Osborne was the reason my family died. I grew up in a war zone. I didn’t live in the United States my whole life. When I was a boy, I lived in Afghanistan. Being around the war, it made me want to help people. I dreamed of being a doctor to help those in my village that became injured. My mother and I helped create medicine out of natural herbs, while my father worked with the other villagers to create weapons. See, my parents were Americans. But they went over to help, and that’s when they had me. Okay, I’m losing track of my story. Let me get to the most important part. My village was under attack. I thought it was because of the war at the time, but it turns out it was because Norman Osborne ordered the strike. He wanted the weapons my father was working on. The bomb killed everyone but me. I don’t know how I survived. People told me it was because I was closest to the blast. Those that are closest to the blast are sometimes spared. It’s like standing in the eye of a hurricane or some shit like that. I don’t know and frankly I don’t really care. I wished I would have died in that blast.” 

Peter couldn’t even form words, Tony could tell he was trying to say something. But he quickly shut his mouth again. Even the words “I’m sorry” can’t come close to helping a person like Bruce. Peter was a smart kid. He seemed to know a hell of a lot about social cues. 

“At the time, I didn’t know what killed my family. But a few members of the Black Order were there and they took me home with them. That’s how I ended up working for the people that killed my family. I had no idea until Tony figured it out one day. See, Tony’s parents were also in the weapon-making-business and Tony actually went to Afghanistan when he was thirty and that’s when he was kidnapped.”

“He was kidnapped?” The kid looked at Tony like he was suddenly born on another planet. 

“Yeah. His business partner, Obadiah-“

“Hey Bruce,” Tony shouted, cutting the man off. “That’s my story to tell, and I’m not telling it.” 

“Sorry man. You’re right. Not my place. Anyways, Tony helped me discover the truth and well, ever since then I’ve wanted to kill Normal Osborne.”

“Then... um...” Peter scratched the back of his neck, “Why haven’t you?”

“Because I don’t know where he is! The only person that ever met him was Tony, and that was almost ten years ago. After Osborne killed Tony’s partner, he disappeared.”

“Seriously? And you couldn’t find him?” 

“We’ve tried everything. Hacking traffic cams, asking other members of the Black Order - I mean, there is only so much we can do without being arrested, and we don’t exactly have the best track record so we have to be careful. But as far as we can tell, Norman Osborne became a ghost.”

“I know where he is.” Peter blurred out, and every eye in the room landed on him, as a suffocating silence swarmed around.

“Are you serious right now? Do not test me, kid.” Bruce pointed a stern finger in Peter’s face. 

“Yeah but - I didn’t know he was so bad. He - he offered me a place to stay.”

“No, Peter. No.” Steve’s voice was nearly pleading. “Don’t ever listen to a thing that man says. He’s a liar.”

“Where is he?” Bruce slapped his damaged hand against the table. 

“Hey big guy. Calm down or we’re going to have to tranq you again.” Steve reminded him.

Bruce willed himself to suck in a breath. “I’m sorry. Please, Peter. Tell me where he is.”

“Well... I know where his son lives. I’ve never seen the father before. I’m not sure if he even lives with his son.”

“That monster has a son?” Tony snapped. “That asshole kills my partner’s kid and yet he has one himself? That’s utter horse shit. If Bruce doesn’t kill him, I’ll do it myself.”

“Tony,” Steve barked. “We’re not killing anyone.” Bruce’s mouth was agape. “That’s not what we do. We give them to the CIA and we let them rot in prison for the rest of their lives. But we don’t take lives.”

“Easy for you to say. You never had someone murder the people you love!” Bruce said, clenching his fists, his nostrils flaring. Steve reached into his pocket for the tranquilizer. 

“You’re right.” He whispered, “I can’t even imagine that type of pain. But if we kill him, think of his son. He’s going to want to kill us. And suddenly we become the very monsters we have always hated. If we don’t stop the cycle now, it will never end. That kid will kill one of us, and then someone else will kill him, and around and around we go.” 

Sometimes Steve Rogers made sense. Sometimes, Tony will admit, the team needed his logical reasoning. In moments like this one, Tony wouldn’t necessarily be against calling Steve, Captain, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. 

“Okay. Okay. So what the hell are we going to do?”

“Nothing.” Steve said. “We’re going to do the mission Fury gave us, and that’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to wait a week before posting the next chapter. I’m not sure yet. But thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying!!! I love you all. :)


	9. Step 9: Don’t do anything stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He saw it everywhere.  
> The inevitable folding of a wave,
> 
> The patient flood of lava  
> traveling toward him.
> 
> He saw birds die in flight,  
> felt a leaf release itself in his stomach.
> 
> We become rock, he thought  
> The sun, somewhere, is always rising
> 
> and setting. The earth bubbles,  
> driving a volcanic neck
> 
> smoking from the ocean.  
> No island is an island, 
> 
> he said. There is no new land,  
> just the same body broken open. 
> 
> \- Matt Rasmussen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Swearing and Fighting. This chapter is set up with the mission, then the second half is a training session that turns into a physical and verbal fight. Maybe a little graphic but not too bad.

Peter might have lived in Queens his whole life, but it was painfully apparent by his excitement and loud chatter over the coms that he had never been to the MoMA PS1 museum before. 

“Kid, just keep it down. Unlike you, some of us are actually inside the museum right now.” Tony scolded, before turning to grin widely at an attractive young bartender who handed him his drink. “Thank you, beautiful. Just out of curiosity, are you seeing anyone?”

“I hope you’re not talking to Natasha.” Peter said, and Tony regretted giving the kid a com. Natasha, however, was getting a serious kick out of Peter’s comments. 

“He wouldn’t dare say that to me,” she whispered into her glass just loud enough for the coms to pick-up. It was hard trying to hide talking to yourself in public. Tony downed the rest of his drink, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Play nice, you guys.” Steve said. “Remember, the security in this place is tight so we need to you to wait until Bruce is able to hack into the security system upstairs.”

“We might have another problem. There’s security guards at every staircase. I’m not sure if we’re going to be able to get upstairs.” Tony muttered, hoping that the bar tender couldn’t hear him. 

“You have to get up there. That’s where the 10 million dollar painting is stashed. Don’t worry, Peter and I will give you some help once we get inside the building.” Steve explained. 

“Alright, see you soon.” 

Both Tony and Natasha waved goodbye to the bartender and entered the auction room which was filled with chairs, each one coated with red velvet seats. The stage was lavish, displaying multiple pieces of art in various different show cases. 

Tony and Natasha took a seat in the roped off section and pretended to be interested in the sheet of paper they were given. They were both dressed in the most elegant attire the FBI could provide, which was actually really nice. Tony had a dark black suit, white dress-shirt, and black tie on while Natasha wore a striking red and gold dress. The FBI wardrobe department went all out. 

“Keep an eye out for any members of the Black Order, and remember, go upstairs the second Peter and I arrive.” Steve said, and Tony could vaguely hear the sound of a plate platter dropping in the background. Both Peter and Steve were disguised as caters, and they were currently waiting with the rest of the catering crew in a van parked outside. 

“Copy that.” Natasha said, linking her arms with Tony’s while they sat together. They had to play the part of a married couple, to make it look believable. It was no problem, but Tony always felt a little weird doing it, since he thought of Natasha as his younger sister. 

“So Nat, how’s Banner been recently?” He said to make things less weird, or because Tony had to ruin any good moment. 

She bore her eyes into his, the way only Natasha Romanoff could and said, “He’s fine.”

“Any issues after his break down?”

“Nope.”

“I can hear you,” Bruce said through the coms. 

“Any issues in bed?” Tony asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Natasha pressed her heel into his shoe, effectively puncturing his big toe. “Ooow!”

Peter snickered over the coms.

“It was just a question.” He exclaimed after Natasha stood abruptly to her feet. “No need to get so worked up. Everyone knows you have a thing for Bruce. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

But Natasha was still standing and staring off into space, so Tony stood too, following her gaze. 

“I have eyes on Midnight and Trick Shot.” 

“Those are some weird ass names.” Peter mumbled, and Tony couldn’t argue with him there. 

“I see them too. East side of the building, headed North.” He said. 

“They must have a plan to take out the guards.” Natasha hissed. 

“Okay, well, we’re going to stick to our plan.” Steve said firmly. “You stay in position until Peter and I arrive on scene, then you head upstairs into the Neoclassical exhibit while we distract them down here. Clint is in position on the roof, ready to swing down or shoot arrows if you need him.”

“Got it.” 

A woman in a long black and green dress clinked her glass with a fork gesturing to the large crowd to quiet themselves because the auction was starting. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. I can’t thank you all enough for attending this fine charity event. In a moment, we will be presenting each art piece on display and asking for you to bid. Remember all the money we raise tonight is going to the Children’s hospital, so please don’t be shy. Without further ado, I give you the finest refreshments known to man.” She clapped her hands, signaling for the group of caters to walked in. “I want to fill your bellies before emptying your bank accounts.” She laughed as if that was supposed to be funny, “We will get started momentarily.”

All at once, several cater’s swept through the room including Peter and Steve, who were dressed in black vests and cute little bow ties to complete the look. 

“Oh this is entertaining.” Tony said, as Steve leaned forward to hand him a tray of miniature tarts and finger sandwiches. 

“Shut up, Stark.” Steve growled at his smirking friend.

“I could get used to you serving me.”

“Don’t.” 

“So what do you think? Private security?” Tony asked, gesturing ever so casually towards the guards. 

“I don’t think so. Look at how they’re standing. These guys are pros. Most likely state-troopers moonlighting.” Steve mumbled. 

“Mhm mhm,” Tony hummed around his sandwich, and Steve moved on to the next row of seats because he had to keep moving. 

“I’m watching the security cams,” Bruce informed them. “And the Black Order has made their first move. Trick Shot just took down a guard while Midnight swiped his security badge.”

“How is this place not swarming with cops right now? Security surely caught that on video.”

“Um... yeah they did. And this place is going on a temporary lockdown. All of the guards upstairs are swarming to the Neoclassicism exhibit as we speak. The ones down here are going to be on higher alert.”

“They don’t care about doing this quietly, then.” Steve growled. “That means we’re going to have a blood bath upstairs and they don’t even care.”

“Considering what you have told me about The Black Order so far, that sounds about right.” Peter’s voice held the exhaustion they were all feeling. 

“We need to get up there now.” Steve barked with determination. 

Tony and Natasha stood, excusing themselves politely as they shuffled past a few couples like they would do in a movie theater. “What’s the plan Steve?” Tony whispered harshly as he made his way to the staircase. 

A guard stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Oh my wife, she needs to lie down.” Tony laughed playfully. “A little too much wine.”

Natasha stumbled forward and embraced the guard. “Hello there,” she giggled. 

“Honey, get off the nice man.” Tony pulled her to his side. “Is there a bench upstairs by chance?”

“I’m sorry, but you should go home.” The guard said. “No one is permitted upstairs.”

Over the coms, Tony overheard Peter say something to the hostess in the green dress. 

“Excuse me, are you the lady that organized this event?”

“Why yes, I am.”

“So you hired this catering company? Boy, you are going to be pissed when you find out.”

“Find out what?”

“I could get fired for telling you this, but we used raw eggs in our food.”

“What?!” The hostess whisper-yelled. 

“Yeah, I only found out cause I tried some of it, and oh my God. I don’t feel so good.”

“I need to talk to you boss.” The woman muttered in a flustered manner.

“No, I’m doing this for you, because I tried some of the sandwiches too and it was like a gag thing - I threw up in the pantry!” He shouted the last part so every guest in the room heard. They all quickly threw their food back onto their plates with disgusted horror as Peter made a gagging sound. 

“No! No, the food is fine.” The hostess rushed to reassure her rich customers. 

“I think I’m going to throw up again.” Peter began making gagging noises, hunching in in himself, and everyone in the room made a huge scene. Women were spitting out their food into hanker-chiefs while some of the men looked like they were going to be sick as well. Then of course there was the hushed whisper of outrage. 

“Get him out of here!” The hostess screamed, gesturing to the nearest guard which was non-coincidentally the guard standing in Tony’s way. 

“Great job, kid.” Tony praised, as he and Natasha booked it upstairs while Peter was being hauled outside. They got to the top of the stairs when they reached their next problem. Lasers in the hallway had been activated.

“Bruce, can you override them?”

“It will take too long, but I can try.”

Natasha nodded, “Don’t worry, I got this.” She said as she wiggled out her arms and legs, shaking them loose before attempting to slide between the beams. Tony wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. Natasha was skinny, but these lasers were practically overlapping, leaving hardly any room at all for a person to squeeze through, hence the whole point. 

“Be careful, Nat. You hit one of those beams and you’ll be fried to a crisp.”

“Wow thank you for that helpful information, Sherlock. I had no fucking idea.” She growled. 

Tony scanned his surroundings, spotting a window. 

“Clint, can you reach Exhibit B’s window? We might need you to shoot a few of your famous arrows.” 

“Sure thing.” Clint stated. “I’ve been preparing for this day for a long time.”

Tony thought for a second. “Nat, why don’t you wait for Bruce to deactivate the lasers? Clint can take care of it.”

“We need to stop them before they steal the painting.”

“Yeah but think about it. They only have two ways they can exit the building. This way, or the window where Clint will be. They’re trapped. Let’s just wait here.”

Natasha sighed, but did back away from the laser beams which were ultimately too risky for her to try. “You better be right.” She huffed.

“Guys, Peter and I are outside.” Steve shouted, and they both winced. “So where do you need us.”

“If you can get to that window where Clint is, that would be great.”

“On it.” Steve said. “I’ll stay below. Peter you use the zip-line and climb up the side of the building.”

“Copy that.” The kid said, and Tony didn’t like the thought of Peter climbing a building, but he didn’t say anything. 

Muffled shouts were coming from the other room. Then, there was a shriek of agony, and one of the guards flew out of the room, into Tony’s view, with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

He knew immediately Trick-Shot was the culprit because Clint would never shoot someone to kill someone. All he could do was hope Clint got there fast enough to stop the other guards from being shot. 

“Bruce, we need an ambulance.”

“Copy that.” Bruce said, getting ready to anonymously call for help. 

“Hey man, this isn’t going to end well.” Clint said. At first, Tony thought he was talking to them, but he realized a minute later, he was talking to the Black Order. 

“Hey traitor.” Trick-Shot snorted. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Out of nowhere, Trick Shot whipped an arrow from his pack and sent it flying in Clint’s direction, but Clint dodged his attack, grabbing his arm and flinging him into the hall as well. 

“Who are you?” A security guard shouted, pointing his gun at Clint. 

“Um... I’m with the FBI.”

“Where’s your badge?”

Recovering quickly, Trick-Shot came at Clint again, sending multiple arrows flying through the air. Although one did graze his shoulder, Clint had evade the attacks. To Clint, it almost seemed like a dance. He ducked this way, moved that way, turned this way. Every arrow flew past him landing to the ground. 

“Seriously, dude?!” Clint yelled at the guard. “I’m a little busy right now. I’ll show you my badge later. Do you mind helping me.”

“Bruce, hurry up and dismantle these fucking lasers already!” Tony screamed, irritated that he couldn’t help. 

“Tony, Nat, the painting is on the move. Midnight must have it.” Bruce shouted. 

“I’ve got it.” Peter called, like this was a football game and he was chasing the ball. 

“Be careful Peter.” Steve warned and Tony couldn’t stand these fucking lasers. He was so helpless right now, listening and watching his team fight this battle while he was stuck doing nothing. 

“Fight me!” Trick-Shot bellowed. “Stop being a coward and fight!” 

Clint said nothing, just continued to dodge the arrows, moving faster than Tony’s ever seen. 

“You’re so predictable,” Trick-Shot faked Clint out with an arrow, and managed to clip him hard in the chest. Thank God he was wearing a vest. “Did you forget that I trained you?” Trick-Shot aimed an arrow straight at his forehead, and Natasha gasped, reaching into her purse for a gadget that might save Clint’s life, but it was too late. Trick-Shot released his arrow.

“I’ve learned a few new tricks since then.” Clint retorted, catching the arrow in his hand. Without another word, he twisted that same arrow into his bow, and flung it back at Trick-Shot’s shoulder, hitting him so hard he fell back onto the ground. 

“Guards, feel free to handcuff this man.”Clint said, and naturally at that very moment the red lasers flickered, shutting off. Figures. Tony and Natasha still rushed towards him nonetheless. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’ll live. Not gonna lie, my chest hurts like hell.” Clint winced. “But I feel amazing. Nothing like putting your old enemy behind bars.”

Natasha patted his shoulder and ruffled his hair. The guards handcuffed Trick-Shot but not without complaint about the painting.

The painting...

Tony and Natasha shared the same look of terror, before busting into a dash towards the window. 

Peter was dangling outside the window by his one foot, battered and bruised, but in good spirits. 

“I got it!” He shouted proudly, “I got the painting!” 

True to his word, Peter did have the painting in his arm when they pulled him up. 

“Where the hell is Midnight?” Nat asked, but Tony was trying to untangle the zip-line from Peter’s ankle where it was cutting off circulation.

“Forget about Midnight, help me get this off the kid.” Tony scolded, and Nat quickly aided him freeing Peter from his tangled web. 

“Are you okay?” Tony asked. Peter nodded, a huge smile plastered to his face. He was clearly overwhelmingly proud of himself for accomplishing the deed. After all, the mission was to save the painting, and that’s exactly what Peter did. 

“Thank you,” One of the guards said. “Things could have ended really badly if it wasn’t for your unique team of... uh... CIA agents? What unit are you?”

“Um.. that’s classified.” Tony placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder and offered him a his charming smile.

“I got Midnight.” Steve said through the coms. “Bringing her upstairs as we speak.”

_________________

It was a mission well done, but also overdone in regards to Peter’s storytelling of the event. 

If Tony had to hear one more story about how Peter dove head-first off a second-story window to retrieve the fallen painting, he was going to lose it.

“To Peter!” Steve shouted, raising his glass high into the sky, and clicking it against everyone else’s. 

“To Peter!” They all rejoiced. Natasha nudged Peter’s shoulder, while Clint high-fived the kid. 

And there was this familiar cocky grin on Peter’s face. Tony knew for a fact he had seen that same smug grin somewhere else. Someone he knew wore that same look, the familiarity was disturbing, especially since Tony couldn’t place his finger on who Peter reminded him of. Was it a friend or an enemy? Was it really a person at all, or did Peter just have one of those faces that look familiar. 

“Hey kid, I’ll have to teach you how to shoot some of my arrows. I think you really proved yourself today.” 

As if Peter needed anymore of an ego boost, the entire group was giving him one anyway. 

“With a little more training from the rest of us, he’ll be able to officially call himself an Avenger.” Steve said. “What do you say, Tony? Are you willing to train him too?”

“No.”

The kid scowled. 

__________________

And that’s how the downward spiral started. Peter would train, brag, then train and brag again. He woke up every morning that week and did sit-ups, push-ups, and a long boxing routine. 

Within a week, there was a noticeable, physical difference in the boy. He was taller, not by much, but his muscular arms were toning perfectly, and his once very gangly looking legs, were strong. They were still skinny as hell, but he had solid muscle on his thighs and calves. He looked good. And he fucking knew it. Did Tony mention the kid liked to brag? 

He spent hours looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, raking that short hair back behind his ears, and playing with different hair products that he _stole_. Steve and the rest of the Avengers helped him on his first ‘run.’ They hit-up the liquor store, then a department store at the mall. 

“When can I go to a bar and find a girl?” He asked one evening when Tony was talking about his recent hook-up. 

“When you’re twenty one.” Tony responded indifferently. 

“Oh come on.” Peter complained. “I’ve never been more fit. This is the perfect time for me to find love somewhere in the world.”

“You don’t find love at a bar... well not usually.”

“But you do it.”

“I’m not in-love with any of the girls I hook-up with. And they aren’t in love with me.” Tony tried to explain this obvious fact. At least, he thought it was common sense, but then again, he had to remind himself he was talking to a child. 

“Then why do you do it, if you aren’t looking for love?”

“Because it feels good.” Tony mumbled, face turning red. He’s never felt more ashamed of himself. Peter did that to him a lot. Made him feel guilty for all of his life’s decisions.

“Oh. Where do you find someone to fall in love with, then?” The kid asked. 

Tony shrugged. “That’s the greatest mystery of the Universe.”

“Were you ever in-love?”

His mind flashed to his wife, Pepper, and her golden blonde hair, beautiful smile, gentle hands. The memory dissolved almost as quickly as it came. 

“No.” He put headphones in to ignore anymore questions. 

Tony tried not to take offense. He knew the kid wasn’t trying to bring up any painful memories. He was just a curious teenager, thinking about love, and asking the only adults in his life what they think. But Tony wasn’t a good role model, and Peter shouldn’t be looking up to him. 

_____________________

A few days later, and Peter was drunk. 

Steve, once again, was out of the garage for the evening, and Clint threw a little party with Peter, getting him drunk off his ass. The kid stood on the kitchen table and claimed he was the CEO of the Universe... _don’t ask_. Then he proceeded to balance on the edge of the table while taking shots. Natasha and Clint bet money on how long he would last. _Seven shots_. It took seven shots before he lost his balance and fell. Clint lost the bet. 

Needless to say, Tony got a thrill out of eating really greasy food in front of the kid the next day while he was stuck by the toilet puking his guts out. 

He went on another mission with the Avengers, and much to Tony’s dismay, he did really well. Peter was becoming a proper criminal. This time he sat with Bruce and hacked into the security system.

Later that evening, when they were celebrating, Peter claimed if he ever wanted an expert hacker’s opinion, he would ask himself because he’s that damn good. 

In the short three weeks that Tony has known the kid, he watch him go from this mix of innocent school boy and biker kid, to a complete badass. 

He was still slicking his hair back, but he stole himself a brand new attire. A nice jean jacket, grey buttoned-down shirt, and grey beanie for his head. He kept his black gloves with the tips cut off, and he wore dark blue jeans, and a black backpack where he put all of his gadgets. 

You know... gadgets:

Flashlights, flash drive, water bottle, knife, bow and arrow, switch-blade, and oh yeah, gun. Just your usual possessions of course. At least, that’s how Peter saw it, because the boy was being fucking brainwashed everyday! The Avengers were making him think this was normal. It wasn’t healthy. 

“What’s it like to kill a person?” Peter asked him on the 22nd of July. Tony couldn’t eat his dinner after that question. 

“Pray you never find out.”

There were still some moments when Tony felt like Peter was the same boy he knew when they first found him. But those moments often involved Peter pacing around the garage shaking like a leaf about going to bed. 

He was still scared after all this time to sleep fully through the night. It had only been three weeks, but _still_. Tony thought the kid would feel safe by now. But he was constantly tense. Always scared at night. Like a little kid. That’s the one time Tony caught a glimpse of the old Peter. 

The boy did stop, however, searching through the cars. At long last, he wasn’t acting suspicious or strange. Now it was just arrogance and the mister tough guy routine. 

Which Tony could handle if it was just an act. But see, the thing was, Peter was not acting. He really believed he was this tough, hard-core criminal. Which he wasn’t. Not even close. Sure, he could steal, and hack, and fight. But he also feared horror movies, knew nothing about taxes, and rescued little animals from the street. Steve scolded him four times for bringing home three dogs and a cat. He made Peter let each one go back into the wild, but Peter insisted upon healing them first. 

He loved things with his whole heart, and that right there, was why he could never be a hard-core criminal. 

He wanted to be, though, and that’s the part Tony couldn’t handle. He hated watching the kid try to purposely jump into the cold world of crime for no good reason. He hated watching the boy try to throw away his feelings. He hated most of all, watching as his team, _his family_ , hurt this kid by encouraging him. It made him sick. 

“Hey Tony,” Steve said as they were sitting on the couch, watching a boring infomercial at three in the morning. “Are you sure you don’t want to train Peter?”

“I’m sure.” 

Thankfully, Steve dropped the subject.

___________________

Until the next day, that is, when he brought the subject up again. For once, Tony was having a good day. He had just gotten off the phone with Rhodey and was feeling happy as hell when Steve asked that stupid fucking question again. 

“Do you want to train Peter?”

“Stop fucking askin’ me.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Why won’t you train with him? I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous. You are the only person here who hasn’t taught him a thing yet. He needs your help! You’re the best of the best when it comes to weapon combat.”

“I’m not handing the kid a knife and asking him to play with it.”

“No of course not. But you are going to teach him how to use it properly.”

“Like hell I am.” Tony snapped. 

“Peter looks up to you. He wants to be like you. The least you can do is train him.”

“He wants to be like me? He doesn’t even know the real me, or what I’m capable of.”

“But does know. We told him the stories, he knows what your capable of and he’s completely fascinated by you.”

“Come on, Steve. What type of example do you think we’re setting for that kid out there?” Tony pointed to the door, knowing Peter was just outside, running his laps. “Do you really it’s best for him to learn this stuff?”

Steve shook his head in absolute disbelief. “You’re amazing, you really are.”

“What?” Tony growled. 

“I just think it’s amazing how you’re telling yourself this constant lie that we are somehow ‘bad’ for Peter.”

“We are bad for Peter!”

“No we’re not!” Steve shouted. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was like all the thunder in the universe couldn’t compare. “Wake the hell up! He’s happy with us.”

“If he’s so fucking happy, why does he wake up in the middle of the night pacing around the place like a ghost?”

“I don’t know! Because he’s fucked up in the brain like the rest of us. That’s why he belongs here.”

“He does not belong here. He belongs in school, at home, or with a family. Not us.”

“We are his family.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes we are. He looks up to us like -“

“I DON’T WANT HIM TO LOOK UP TO ME.” Tony felt his neck tighten, and he knew he was going to have a headache by the way his head was constricting. But he was too fired up now, and he couldn’t stop the words from flowing. “I didn’t fucking ask for him to look up to me, okay? And I sure as fuck don’t want to raise this kid to be a criminal.”

“Tony, we have a responsibility -“

“No we don’t.”

“Yes we do! We took him in -“

“I don’t owe him anything. He’s **not** **my kid.** ” 

Tony didn’t realize he was shaking so badly until he stopped screaming. The air in the room was dense, and Tony felt lightheaded. Steve just stared at him. 

“He’s not my kid, and I don’t want him to need me.”

“Well that’s too damn bad, Tony, because he does need you. He needs you to step up and train him.”

Tony’s jaw clenched as he twisted his neck to the side, ironing out the kinks. “That’s all you care about isn’t it? Training him, like he’s some fucking circus animal.”

“I want him to be part of this team which is more than you can say.” 

Of course Steve wanted the kid to be part of the team, that much was obvious, but his intentions behind that sentiment were unclear. As far as Tony could see, Steve only wanted Peter for one purpose and one purpose only, and that was to work. To put simply, Steve was using Peter for his own personal benefit and he wanted Tony to just be okay with it. 

“Fine, you son of a bitch. I’ll train the brat since that’s all you care about.” Tony growled, giving into what Steve wanted. He was tired of fighting the inevitable. 

Just then, the door slammed open, vibrating off of the wall, leaving a nice chunk of wood missing as Peter came storming in the room. He stomped loudly against the garage floor, kicking his tennis shoes into the concrete.”

“Hey, did you finish your run?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

Tony was taken aback by Peter’s unwavering sneer, it was directed at him even though the kid was answering Steve’s question.

“Tony’s gonna train with you.”

“So I heard.” Peter was staring into brown eyes with a fiery intensity.

“Come on, then. Let’s train,” Tony barked, irritated beyond irritated that he was actually going to go through with this.

“Yeah let’s do it,” Peter snapped back.

“Got your backpack?”

“Yup.” Peter’s voice was just oozing with rage.

“Good.” Tony’s voice wasn’t much different. “Then get your knife.”

Peter yanked the zipper of his backpack open, pulling out a Bowie with a wickedly curved tip. It was seven inches long and the handle was polished wood. It was clean and sharp, but Tony’s knife was cleaner and sharper.

The walked off into the woods behind the garage. They didn’t go far at all, but far enough so they could have a little privacy in the small field back there. 

Tony watched the boy. He looked so determined, already had his weapon poised and was ready to go.

“Practice tossing it from both hands to get the feel of your weapon.” Tony displayed how to do it, tossing the Bowie back and forth. Peter huffed an indigent breath.

“Please don’t waste my time.” He said as he quickly maneuvered the weapon from the one hand to the other, showing that he did indeed, have a feel for his weapon already.

“Did you use one of these before?” Tony quirked an eyebrow. He really hoped the answer was no.

“I’m not some incompetent child. According to you, I’m not _your_ child either so -“

“You‘re not.”

“I know, and I’m beyond thankful. God help me if I was your child I’d probably be dead.”

Tony’s blood ran cold. Ice cold. He could feel every other part of his body heat up, but his core was so cold, he was sure he would die of hypothermia. _How dare he_.

Tony stayed silent for a while, but when he finally spoke his voice was gruff, “Okay tough guy. You think you know how to use one of these things? Show me how you would attack an enemy. Let’s go.”

Peter moved forward to jab, and Tony laughed out loud. “That was absolutely pathetic. You try that and they’ll slice your hand clean off.”

Peter sneered. “You’re just saying that to be a jerk.”

“No, I’m saying that because it’s true. If I wanted to be a jerk, I’d say your stance is all wrong, your arms are too twig-like to do you any good, and you smell like rotten milk. Lord, kid, do you even know what a shower is?”

“Why are you so mean to me!” Peter shouted, squeezing the bottom of his sweaty tank-top in one fist and bringing it to his nose to smell. “I do not smell bad!”

“Are you ready to learn how to properly use one of these?”

“Like you even know how to ‘properly use a knife.’” Peter mocked, using air quotes.

“Kid, if you don’t knock off this attitude right now I’m going to show you just how well I know how to use a knife.”

“Oooh, scary. You know, if I was wearing a mini-skirt you probably would be saying the same kinky shit, wouldn’t you? I heard you were into knife play.”

Tony felt his face burn. He knew he was a scarlet red, and he hated how the kid was wearing that same fucking grin he’s had all week. Tony wanted to knock his teeth out.

“Your foster father sounded like he was into some pretty kinky shit too. What was it he used to call you again? Oh yeah, worthless. little. _bitch_. But it’s okay, Peter, I don’t think you’re worthless, I think you’re a _weak_ little bitch.”

That did it.

That was the straw that broke the camels back.

Peter threw his weapon aside, very dramatically, and curled his hand forward, gesturing for Tony to “come at him.”

“You wanna fight?” Tony asked, watching as Peter put his fists up in front of him and started swaying back and forth on his feet like a professional boxer. Tony snorted a laugh, and tossed his weapon far to the side. “You sure?” He asked, getting into the same stance.

“I’ll show you how weak I am.” Peter snarled, lashing out with a quick jab. Tony only just managed to dodge it.

A quick assessment of the situation, and Tony could already tell Peter’s strengths from his weakness. He was fast, agile, and flexible. Moving with speed was his strength. He could dodge like a pro, and he could come out of nowhere with his attack. 

Tony dodged to the side for the second time, and let Peter blow past him. His weakness was his punch, his delivery, and his timing. It was clear as day he couldn’t read Tony because he was striking at all sorts of random times. Times when he should have been protecting his face.

Tony caught Peter’s arm with his hand, twisted him, and pushed him stumbling away from him.

The kid jumped right back into the fight, came rushing back, and tried to strike Tony again. Tony send him falling on his ass.

Like that old song, Peter got knocked down, but he got up again. The process went on and on, until Tony was getting tired of sending the kid tumbling to the ground.

“If you’re trying to break me, it won’t work.” Peter panted, standing up for the fifth time. “I don’t break easy.”

“Not trying to break you, kid. Just trying to show you the truth. You’re not as strong as you think you are.”

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.” Peter said, catching Tony off guard and kicking his knee. Tony bent forward and Peter elbowed him in the chest sending him falling for once.

As he laid on the ground, the kid stood triumphantly overtop of him. It was a cheap shot, Tony reminded himself, as he stood up again.

“All right tough guy. You proved that you have balls. Congrats. Now do you want to learn how to wield a knife or not?”

“I don’t need you or anybody else to teach me.” Peter jutted his chin out.

“Well, I appreciate you saying that because I don’t want you to _need_ me, but I think we both know you do. Saying otherwise is extremely arrogant.”

“I’ve already completed two missions on my own. I didn’t need anyone else with me. I can get out of anything all by myself. That’s why I was the one that got the painting and the jewelry. Without me, you guys wouldn’t be doing near as well. So I think you should be thanking me,” Peter said, once again, getting the drop on Tony and sending him to the ground.

“You arrogant little brat. Did your father teach you how to be this arrogant or does it just come naturally?” Tony asked, getting to his feet.

“Don’t say a word about my family. You’re a cantankerous old git who wouldn’t know a thing about family if it slapped him in the face.”

This time Tony was able to knock him to the ground. Emotions were the number one way to lose a battle.

Peter cracked his neck from side to side, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, fists raised high. He didn’t know when to give up.

“I know more than you think, kid. In fact, I’m a lot like you.”

Peter scoffed. “We are _nothing_ alike. I’m not some disgusting bastard that sleeps around with anything that has legs. It’s a miracle you don’t have kids the way you fuck everything.”

“Weak little bitch.” Tony shouted, knowing damn well those words would sting the boy as much as his words were stinging him.

“Shut up!” Peter’s arms were shaking violently as he tried to hold them up in a defensive position. “Just shut the hell up.”

“B.I.T.C.H.”

Peter let out a war cry, running head first at Tony’s stomach, ramming himself into the older man, and effectively knocking him on his ass. His fist collided with Tony’s jaw, then his cheek, then his other cheek. Peter was sitting on top of Tony, pummeling him as hard as he could.

Tony couldn’t believe the force behind the punches. The rage, the pain, everything. It was all coming out in a flurry of punches directed at Tony’s face. He felt his nose crunch under the kid’s fists, felt the warm blood trickle down to his mouth, tasted the metallic taste. He was going to need to realign his nose.

A sharp knuckle kiss to the bone had him howling in pain. A bright hot flash of agony exploded over his chest. That did it for Tony.

Before Peter could land the next strike, Tony grabbed both of his fists, and shoved the boy backwards, so he could stand up. Once Tony was on his feet, he grabbed the kid by his arm and yanked him into a standing position as well. 

“That’s enough!” Tony breathed, panting hard. Peter ripped his arm away and spat on the ground. For the first time since the assault, Tony felt the full effect of his broken nose and it felt like he had water permanently stuck in his nose. He reached out to realign it, cringing as he did so.

Peter stepped closer, gloved fists clenched tightly at his sides. “What’s the matter? Did I break your nose?” That damn smirk was on his face, and oh that mocking voice. Tony couldn’t stand the high mocking tone. “You deserved it you stupid mother-fucking-assh-“

The rest of Peter’s tirade was cut off by Tony grasping his wrist and flinging him over his left hip so he was bent in an awkward position. Tony raised his hand and slapped it down on the seat of the kid’s jeans.

“Hey?!” Peter shrieked, twisting in Tony’s grasp. “Get the fuck off of me.” 

“You need to watch your mouth,” Tony applied a quick dozen more smacks, while Peter slammed his fist against Tony’s back, leaving what would soon be a beautiful bruise.

“Stop it,” Tony growled, smacking the kid a little harder, and a little faster. He felt like it was well needed, and well deserved. Not to mention, it was a twinge of sweet revenge for the bloody face he was sporting.

“You stop it!” Peter bit back a yelp. He was starting to flinch at every swat or two; and he punched Tony even harder, trying to get the older man to release him.

Hissing at a particularly hard slap, the kid punched his back even harder. Tony raised his hand extra high and brought it down with even more vigor than before. “Knock. it. off.”

“Owww!” Peter stomped his feet in the dirt. “You fucking knock it off.” He growled. Tony glared at the back of Peter’s head, displeased with how much of a fuss he was making, and decided to aim the next few swats at the kid’s thighs.

Peter decided to aim too. He aimed his knee for Tony’s sensitive spot. He almost succeeded too, but Tony noticed it just in time and was able to lift the boy’s legs off the ground, and fling him even further over his hip. Tony almost let go during that whole scuffle, which was no doubt what Peter wanted, but he quickly tightened his grip on Peter’s waist.

Okay. Now he was really pissed. The kid just tried to knee him in the balls.

Grabbing a thick stick hanging loosely above his head from a tree, Tony raised it back and brought it down sharply. It made a whistling sound as it cut through the air and landed dead center across Peter’s ass. That got a reaction. 

Peter tensed his entire body before screaming bloody murder.

“Oh my God.” He grit out, trying with all his might to knock Tony off his feet or squirm out of his uncomfortable position. “What the hell is that?” He peered around in time to see the stick falling.

“Gah! You asshole, let me up!” Peter lifted his head back, giving Tony the most demanding glare ever to be seen on the face of the earth. 

“What? You can’t get up by yourself?” Tony asked, bringing down the stick as hard as he could over the kid’s backside. Peter screeched and bucked forward. “I thought you were mister tough guy? I thought you could get out of anything. Isn’t that what you said?”

“It’s hurts asshole! Just let me up.” There was a little quiver to his voice which Tony might have noticed if he wasn’t so angry.

“Get yourself up.” He snapped down the stick again. “You claim you can fight like the rest of us. Why don’t you show me some of those skills. Show me what Natasha was teaching you? After all, if you got caught by the Black Order, I highly doubt they would be giving you an ass-beating. They would most likely cut off your fingers or do something much, much worse.”

Overwhelmed by the relentless pain and Tony’s harsh, but truthful words, Peter began to whimper. He was losing the fight, and he knew it -it was there in his voice, in between the cracks of his pleas. “Let me up, _please_ , let me up. Come on, Tony.” Peter dug his nails into Tony’s back, no longer trying to hurt the man, but rather, trying to hold onto something as the pain reached an unbearable level for him.

Another crack of the stick and Peter squeaked like a dog when you step on his paw.

“L-Let - Let me up. Please! Please, just let me up.” He began hyperventilating, his breathing coming out in panicked little gasps.

Tony slammed the stick down. “Do it yourself.”

“I can’t!” Peter cried, and Tony stopped mid-swing, releasing the kid immediately. Peter stumbled back out of reach.

His eyes were blown wide, and Tony could see him trying to blink back tears as he continued to take a few staggering steps backwards until he tripped over this own two feet.

Tony snagged him by the arm before he could fall, and held him upright. 

“Get a-away,” he hiccuped.

“Look at me, Peter.”

The boy refused to make eye contact, but tried tugging and pulling his arm away from Tony’s grip.

“You are NOT a criminal. Do you understand me?” Tony tried to look into those wide, watery, wounded eyes.

“You’re not some big tough gangster, you are not some adult convict, and you are not disposable. You’re a kid. That’s the only thing you should be right now, is a kid. You have your whole life! Your whole damn life ahead of you - full of amazing things that can happen to you - and you’re throwing it away. You’re throwing it away at sixteen because you want to be someone your not. And why? What do you think’s gonna happen if you stay on this path? I’ll tell you how it ends. Ready? You’re gonna end up in jail for the rest of your life, or dead on the fucking streets. Or you’ll end up like me. Miserable old jackass, me. You asked how I got so bitter. This is how. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. Okay?”

Peter stopped struggling halfway through the speech, but his eyes never met Tony’s. Not once. He kept them plastered to the ground, his face turned to the side. He was stripped of his pride, plain and simple. But Tony needed him to understand. He needed him to see how dangerous it was out there, and how truly unprepared he was.

“Do you understand?”

Tony released his grip on the kid, who was sniffling with enough strength to suggest he was trying to drink a bowl of soup through his nose. 

“I hate you,” He quivered, but it wasn’t anger in his voice rather, pain. Peter’s hands gripped his elbows and he tried to self soothe himself by rubbing his arms. It was a terrible sight. Peter’s knees were locking together, his chin trembling, as he hunched into himself, letting out a long string hitched breathing as he tried to regain control of his emotions.

Tony’s never heard Peter cry, not even on the first day when he met the boy. Peter never once shed a tear during the missions or even during his late night pacing adventures.

Up until this point, Tony thought he might have been one of those kids that _can’t_ cry. He read somewhere that it can happen when a kid goes through a traumatic experience at a young age. They sometimes can’t allow themselves to cry.

But Peter obviously could, he just didn’t choose to do it very often. So It really sucked to know that Tony was the cause.

With the ceasefire of the fight, Tony was left standing in the uncomfortable aftermath, realizing with painful clarity that things were incredibly awkward and tense between the two of them. Peter was still sniffling and that was all Tony’s fault and fuck. He shouldn’t have done that. Feelings of regret stocked with shock and defensive thoughts all piled into one mess in his mind.

There was a huge rife between them, one that could span an entire ocean.

“Peter -“ Tony took another step forward.

“Can I go now?” Peter asked sharply, and Tony realized with alarm that Peter was waiting to be dismissed.

“Yeah, you can...yeah...”

The kid took off running in the direction of the garage, leaving Tony frozen in the grassy green field despite the frying sun beating down on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! That was more intense than I originally thought. You can say it... “WHY WENDY WHY!”   
> Character’s aren’t perfect. That’s what makes reading about them so fun. I hope you enjoyed this chapter even if you were super mad at some of the characters!   
> Give me a shout in the comments if you want to chat, and as always THANK YOU for all the lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks. Lots of love!


	10. Step 10: When you do something stupid, fix it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My darling,  
> You hold so much sadness   
> in your eyes,  
> I can almost touch  
> the scars of your soul  
> and cry.   
>  \- Alexandra Vasiliu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! :) GET READY. This chapter is jam-packed with information, answers, AND finally a little bit of comfort! Hallelujah! :)
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of past death and kidnapping.

Tony didn’t even reach the garage door before he turned around and walked back onto the field. Outside, it was dusk, and growing darker by the minute. 

Tony had expected Peter to hate him after what he had done. He knew he went too far. He knew he was a shitty person and he damn well deserved to be hated. But he couldn’t stand leaving things the way they were. He needed to do or say something to make things better. He wouldn’t ask for Peter’s forgiveness, but he needed to at least explain himself. 

So much later than he would have preferred, Tony walked into the garage like a man walking into the gallows.

He entered, left his shoes and weapons by the door, and felt a deep ache settle in his bones. 

Unsure of what to expect, Tony supposed he expected his friends to be staring at him as if he were a monster. But when he got inside, the Avengers were on the couch watching TV like they hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. There was a light on upstairs in Peter’s room.

He quietly made his way upstairs (his friends didn’t seem to notice he was inside), and he knocked on the bedroom door. 

There was no response. 

That was to be expected. The silent treatment was one of Tony’s all time favorite punishments when he was pissed off at his parents. 

“Peter... can I talk to you?” He opened the door a creek, noticing the lamp was glowing brightly in the otherwise dark room. Tony stepped up to the small bed where Peter was huddled underneath the fuzzy covers. He wished he could see the kid’s caramel hair splayed over the pillow, but he couldn’t. 

This really fucking sucked. The poor kid was probably more afraid of Tony than he was of going to sleep. And Tony knew how much Peter hated going to sleep. 

“Pete... you probably just want me to go away or disappear off the face of the earth, but I really need to tell you how sorry I am. What I did... it wasn’t okay. I’m sorry. I won’t do that ever again. Okay? You don’t have to believe me, or trust me. Hell, I wouldn’t. But I just want you to know that I am sorry. I’ll stay far away from you, if you want. You can train with Steve and the others tomorrow.”

Tony laughed uneasily in the quiet, “You and me, kid. We have some tempers on us. And when we get rolling we sure do lash out, don’t we? But yeah. I need to handle it better. I’m sorry for being this jackass who was acting like your parent. Well, I wasn’t trying ta - I was trying to prove that you can’t protect yourself the way you think you can. Don’t get me wrong, you have been making progress and you definitely are strong. I shouldn’t be trying to undercut your achievements. I mean, seriously look at my face. You bloodied it real good. So you should uh... be proud of your...uh... skills. But it’s just, this life is very dangerous. I’ve seen all the bad sides and I don’t want you to have to go through that, especially if you’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into.”

Tony sat on the side of his bed. “I’m going to come out and say it... you remind me of my daughter, okay? Surprise, I have a daughter. Well, had, as in past tense cause she’s... part of my past. Anyways, I couldn’t protect her.” Tony’s throat closed painfully tight. “And I guess I’m worried I won’t be able to protect you too, so I want you to be as far away from me as possible. Does that make sense? I know it’s hard to understand. I couldn’t understand it myself for a long time. But again, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have hurt you, or take it out on you. I’m not making any sense, am I?” 

Tony stopped talking to see if the kid would respond to anything he said, but he got nothing. Absolutely nothing. He reached out to rub the boy’s back, and that’s when Tony felt it: a soft fluffy non-human texture. He was talking to pillows this entire time. 

“Peter?” Tony asked out loud, wondering where the kid could have gone and then his heart plummeted right out of his body and through the floor. Peter was gone. He left. Ran away. 

Oh God. Tony lost him. He lost the kid. There was a voice in the back of his mind mocking him. _“Isn’t that what you wanted, dumbass?”_ It laughed. But no, that was not what Tony wanted. Not at all. 

He just wanted Peter to be happy dammit! Sure he wanted him to leave, but he wanted the kid to do it because he thought it was the right thing to do, not because he felt like he _had_ too. Not because he was running away.

Holding Peter’s pillow a little too tightly to his chest, Tony closed his eyes. He had no idea what to do. It was just like that day he walked into his daughter’s bedroom to find blood all over the floor. He couldn’t believe she was gone. He was in such denial that day, that month, that year. For hours, Tony sat on Morgan’s bed and hugged her pillow to his chest, the smell forever engraved in his memory. 

And here he was, years later, doing the same thing. The same damn thing he never wanted to do ever again. How did he reach the same ending? He tried so hard to be different. 

But _Peter wasn’t dead,_ Tony reminded himself. He could still fix things. He just had to find him. Slipping off the bed, Tony raced downstairs, alerting the rest of the Avengers immediately. 

“The kid’s gone.” He huffed, hustling over to the 1950’s Ford so he could gather some supplies. 

Steve jumped off the couch. “What are you talking about? I thought he was training with you.” Then Steve got a good look at Tony’s face and he paused.

“Christ, what happened to you? Oh my -“

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” Tony asked, already turning to Bruce. “Can you hack his phone?”

“I can, actually, yeah.”

“Perfect. Do that. We’re gonna get him back.”

“Okay, Tony, what the hell is going on?” Steve folded his arms. 

“How do we know he’s not just in the bathroom?” Clint suggested with a shrug. 

“Because the bathroom door is open.” Tony snapped. 

“And two weapons are gone.” Natasha shouted from the back room.

Tony paused with his hands on the car keys. 

“What!?” They all exclaimed in unison, struggling to maintain a reasonable volume. How could the kid steal weapons right from under their noses? Actually... it was easy they let the kid into their garage. This is really what they get. But seriously, what does Peter need weapons for anyways?

A sudden terrible thought struck Tony. He went pale as Steve and Clint rushed into the back room to examine the missing stuff.

But Tony had his own idea of where to check for missing weapons. He dragged his feet over to the car where he knew the Bioweapon should be.

“Looks like he stole two guns.” Steve said when he emerged from the back. Tony was rooted next to the car, his hands clammy, as he tried to speak.

“What’s wrong?”

“The Bioweapon is gone.”

Outside, a low humming of thunder disturbed the evening sky. It was as if God’s announcer picked up a megaphone and decided to scold all of them. 

“What do you mean it’s gone?” Steve’s disbelieving voice was rather heartbreaking. He put so much faith in the kid. 

“I mean, it’s gone. Peter took it.”

Steve shook his head in denial. “No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he take our bioweapon.”

“Because he’s going to give it to the Black Order.” Tony could barely bring himself to say those words, let alone look in Steve’s eyes. He thought when this moment arrived he would have felt pride, a smug little ‘I-told-you-so’ might happen. But Tony didn’t feel remotely like bragging. 

“Why!” Steve shouted venomously, a stark contrast to Tony’s earlier whisper. “What the fuck did you do, Stark?”

In a flat voice, Tony explained the past events. “We got into a fight. The kid bloodied my face and I hit him back.”

Rain beat heavy against the windowpane, and the wind outside was gusting faster by the second.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve’s voice shook as he spoke. Come to think of it, Steve seemed to be quivering all over the place. “Why would you hit him, Tony? You know he grew up with an abusive foster parent. What the hell were you thinking.”

Bruce cut in quietly, forever the voice of reason when he wasn’t mad, “In Tony’s defense, his face is badly bruised, and no matter what happened, it doesn’t explain why Peter would steal our bioweapon and try to sell it to the Black Order.” 

Another bout of thunder cracked loudly in the sky, reminding Tony just how powerful Mother Nature could be. 

His friends were quiet. A lot of emotions were swarming between the group, but Tony could tell they were all thinking and processing in the way they do it best: together. 

“It does seem weird.” Natasha whispered, “Why he was always looking through the cars. Do you think he always planned on doing this?”

“No.” Steve said, confidently. Tony wasn’t sure how he could be so confident when it seemed like this was the kid’s M.O. all along. 

“Steve... when he first came here he said he had places he could go, remember? What if he was talking about the Black Order?” 

“Or worse. What if he was talking about -“ Clint gave Bruce a weary eye, “You know who.”

Bruce cringed. “Don’t even go there.”

“He did say he knew Osborne’s son.” Natasha said, shaking her head at the horrible thought of Peter betraying them like that. 

Tony planted his feet in a wide stance, and placed his hands on his hips. “I know it looks bad, but I’m telling you this kid is not a bad person.”

“Tony, who’s side are you on?” Clint’s voice rose in pitch. “I’m sorry, but one minute you’re claiming this kid beat you up and took the bioweapon, and the next minute your defending him. Like pick a damn side, man.”

“Both things are true, Barton. He did take the Bioweapon, that I’m certain of, and yeah, he probably was planning this from the beginning. I mean, think about it guys. He claimed he thought he was stealing food. What mother-fucker steals food from an abandoned aquatic facility. No, he knew what he was stealing. He just didn’t count on getting caught by us.”

He could tell by Steve’s posture that he wasn’t going to accept anything he had to say, even if it did make sense. Their first red-flag should have been Peter’s lame excuse for stealing the briefcase in the first place. If a person is going to steal food they go to a restaurant or a convince store, not an abandoned aquatic facility. 

“If he was working with the Black Order, then why did those goons beat him up?” Steve asked.

“My guess, Ebony Maw told the Black Order to steal the Bioweapon, and Norman Osborne told Peter to do it. Why? I dunno. Maybe it was a test? Maybe Osborne is doing something solo and the Black Order doesn’t know about it. Who knows. But the fact is, Peter has been trying to take that weapon ever since he got here.”

“So then why didn’t he take it?” Natasha asked. “He had plenty of opportunities.”

Tony shrugged. “I think he got attached. We were good to him. Well, everyone except me, and even with me, the kid still seemed to be happy.”

Steve’s shoulder’s began to loosen, and it seemed like he was coming to peace with this new explanation. 

“So he originally planned on taking the Bioweapon to Osborne, but after we told him how awful the Black Order was, and how terrible Osborne was, the kid had second thoughts.”

“Most likely, yeah.” Tony nodded. 

“So what? Now that you hit him, he ran to Osborne? Does he think Osborne will be any kinder to him?” Natasha extended her arms out as she spoke. 

Tony shrugged. “He was distraught. I basically pushed him into running away.”

Clint huffed. “Here’s my question. How did a kid like Peter get mixed up with Norman Osborne in the first place - sorry Bruce. Hey, you’ve been doing a good job at keeping it together big guy.”

Bruce grunted, fingers flying a mile a minute on his computer, trying to distract himself with the task at hand rather than flying off the rails. Hopefully he would be able to track Peter’s cell.

“Who knows how he got wrapped up in it. All that matters is we get him out of it.” Tony adopting his famous leadership stance.

“Well, we’re in luck,” Bruce snarled. “The tracking system says Peter is on the move. Looks like he’s in between Grand Avenue and Maspeth.”

_____________________

When Tony was young he was a different man. His parents died when he was seventeen, and he took over his father’s weapon’s company with his father-figure, Obadiah to help him learn the ropes. At twenty-five, Tony married his assistant, Pepper Potts. 

They used to dance in the basement of her parent’s house with the lights out, went on long road trips together, laid in bed for hours just talking about life. They talked about everything they loved. Tony had so much to say back then. Through those discussions, Pepper and Tony knew they both wanted a family. They wanted kids. Morgan Stark was born not long after that.

The pregnancy ran smoothly, and before long, Pepper was a mother and Tony, a father.

People say that being a parent changes your life. But Tony was never one to believe the hype, however, after holding his baby girl for the first time he knew everything had changed and that one myth was very much a fact. 

The baby was so small, so dependent on everything Tony did. This child depended on him for survival. This child was his child. His flesh and blood, his DNA, his genes and Pepper’s meshed together into this real live human being. But more than that, it was an instant form of love. A love that would continue to grow forever. From that moment, Tony knew he would be a father first, and his work came second. His entire company could have gone bankrupt and he would still be happy. Unfortunately, Obadiah didn’t share his same feelings on the matter. 

A baby is work, and Tony had plenty of sleepless nights. But when he was rocking his daughter to sleep, he felt that love fizzle in his chest. It was growing moment by moment, second by second, each swaying rock and the bond grew. Sleep became a thing of the past. He enjoyed staying up at night. Too much at some points. Pepper would get mad, yelling at him to come to bed with her. 

As a toddler, Morgan would tell stories. She babbled about the most innocent of things. Flowers were suddenly shown to Tony in a whole different way. 

_Flowers are everywhere! In the garden and in my hair!_

_In your hair?_

_My hair grows like flowers. We have flowers growing out our heads._

When Morgan was four, Tony decided to stop selling weapons. It was his company, so he could stop doing it if he wanted too. Or so he thought. Obadiah did not share his same beliefs nor did he agree with Tony’s decision. They had plenty of arguments, but in the end, nothing could change Tony’s mind. He was determined to create a safer world for his daughter. Plus, he learned his weapons were being sold to other countries and American soldiers were being killed with the same weapons he created. 

On August 27th, Tony put an end to his weapon’s company, and week later, Tony was kidnapped. When he finally got away, he was stranded in the desert. That’s when he met Nick Fury. The guy was assigned by the FBI with finding a kidnapped victim. _Tony_. Tony was the kidnapped victim.

It didn’t feel real. None of it did. But that was only the beginning. 

Tony blocked most of it out. But the thing he can never block out of his memory, no matter how hard he tries, was what he saw when he got home. 

Blood in the kitchen, on the curtains, on the stairs. A body knife on the pink tile floor. His wife lying next to it. The bedroom, his daughter, bloody sheets. 

He found out a few days later that all of his money had been transferred to Obadiah’s bank account, and the man had a plane ticket to leave the country. 

That was the day Tony promised he would hunt down Obadiah and personally kill him.

There was no one else that could have been responsible for their deaths. No one else that wanted to hurt Tony as badly as that man. And for what? _Money_. 

_“For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.”_ \- 1 Timothy 6:10. It was the first Bible quote he ever learned. 

Tony tried to find him, but he was a little too obsessed and lacked the skills. He ended up going to jail for petty crimes like vandalism and drunk driving. 

It was there, in jail, when he met his future work partner. A man, not much older than him, with a calm, quiet, personality. Tony liked him instantly.

_What are you in for?_

_Disturbing the peace. You?_

_Stealing._

Ebony Maw bailed his future partner out of jail, and that’s when he met Tony. 

Young, vulnerable, broken, Tony. He was a tool ready to be used. All Ebony Maw had to do was promise him revenge and distraction and Tony ate out of his palm like a dog tied to a chain. 

__________________

The missions Tony went on when he first started working for the Black Order were simple steals. 

They wanted him to steal power tools. So Tony really shouldn’t have been suprised to find Peter climbing outside of a Lowe’s Home Improvement store with a bag full of power tools such as circular saws and cordless drills. 

Steve gave him a round of slow applause when they approached from the shadows, and Peter froze, staring at the group on edge. 

“Congratulations on a job well done. You stole that all by yourself.” Steve praised. 

“I have no idea what your talking about,” Peter insisted, turning to them with wide, incriminating chocolate eyes. “I’m the _perfect_ law-abiding citizen you’ll ever meet.”

“That’s cute.” Steve retorted, flatly. 

“Hey, what’s one more crime on my record, right? After all, this is what you were training me for, correct?”

“I was training you to defend yourself and to help us stop people like the Black Order.” Steve bit out sharply. “Not for you to go behind our backs and assist them!”

“I’m not helping the Black Order.” Peter hissed. “I’m helping my friend.”

“Oh? What friend? Do tell.” Steve looked away from Peter in exasperation.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Peter mumbled, gripping his bag tighter. “Just let me go.”

Tony’s heart lurched in his chest, those words forever would remind him of Peter’s cries. He couldn’t help the shudder that ran down his spine. 

“Please tell me you still have the Bioweapon.” Natasha said bluntly. She probably already knew the answer, but she figured she would ask anyways.

“I gave it to Mr. Osborne.”

“Oh Jesus, Peter,” Steve shook his head, echoing the rest of the Avenger’s thoughts. “After everything we told you?”

“I’m doing it for my friend, okay! I know Norman Osborne is a terrible man because he’s a jerk to his son, too. That’s why I gotta help him.” Peter explained frantically, his eyes begging to be understood.

“His son... is your friend?” Clint said for clarification purposes. 

“Yes,” Peter threw his hands out. “Thank you.”

“How does stealing our bioweapon help Osborne’s son?” Nat asked, hiking her eyebrows, and it was enough for Peter’s instinct to tell him to run. He turned a bolted for the fence behind him. It would have been a successful escape if Peter were trying to escape Bruce or Clint, but not Steve and Natasha. 

Ultimately, Steve reached the kid first, snatched the back of his shirt with his right hand and Peter smacked at his hand as he was pulled around to face everyone with his arm captured. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do, so I suggest you answer the question.”

“Harry Osborne was supposed to steal the Bioweapon.” Peter yelled, digging his heels down into the ground. He seemed frantic, desperate to avoid the whole training situation again. Tony wanted to tell him this time no one was going to hurt him, but the kid kept talking. “Harry’s father was grooming him to take over the family business or whatever. I don’t know. All I know, is Harry took me in whenever I was hurt. When I couldn’t stand taking another beating before bed, he would let me sleepover at his house. He was like my Bucky.”

Steve flinched, and Peter freed his arm, taking a few steps away from Steve. 

“You said that Bucky was good to you, right? Well that’s what Harry is to me. He’s a good friend and he was so upset about having to steal that stupid Bioweapon. So upset. I couldn’t stand seeing him so upset.”

“So you decided to do it instead.” Steve finished for him, and Peter nodded vigorously.

“Yeah. I swear I didn’t know all the terrible things his Dad had done. I’m so sorry, Bruce. I’m so sorry. I swear to you, I didn’t know he hurt your family. I didn’t even know what it was I was stealing at the time. They just told me to steal a briefcase. That’s all I was going to do. And then _you_ happened. You guys saved me from being attacked, and then you took me to your place and I didn’t know what to do. I already had a place to stay thanks to Harry. But at the same time, it wasn’t my home. I knew he was going to kick me out eventually and I guess I just liked the idea of having a permanent place to stay. I liked the idea of having a family.” Peter paused for a breath.

With all that information swarming in his head, Tony couldn’t think straight. All he knew was his heart felt like it was chopped to bits and mixed in a blender. _A family_.

“We liked having you too,” Steve whispered. “You were a part of this team.”

_Were_? He still _was_ a part of the team. 

But Peter shook his head. “Not all of you liked me.” He stared at Tony before moving his gaze to the ground, a tiny flush creeping over his cheeks.

Forget the blender, Tony’s heart was being shredded through a freaking wood chipper. 

“I liked having you as part of this family too.” Tony said, taking a miniature step forwards.

Peter raised his weary eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show it well. There were moments when I didn’t even realize it myself. But there were moments when I did. I should have told you how much fun I had working on the cars with you. I should have told you how badly I wanted to protect you after I saw Toomes hurt you. But I didn’t, and for that I am sorry.”

“You didn’t tell him about _her_ , either.” Bruce whispered. “If I can talk about Norman Osborne. You can talk about her.”

Stunned at Bruce’s bravery, Tony was speechless for a second. The man never said Osborne’s name. He just didn’t. It was like Lord Voldemort. He can’t say the name. But he just did, and that meant it was time for Tony to be brave too. 

“You reminded me of my daughter.” He spoke steadily, as if he were reading a script. “She died. Actually she was killed and I couldn’t protect her.” Tony bit his lip, his voice now wavering. It wasn’t easy to talk about. But it needed to be said. Peter deserved to know why he had been such a jerk to him.

“Since I lost her, I purposely distanced myself from kids and families and everything I used to be. That’s why I sleep around so much, and drink so much. I used to be a faithful husband, who loved kids. But when I lost them, I lost myself. I became someone different. But seeing you...it brought back all those feelings of fatherhood honestly. The second I saw you, I wanted to protect you. And I know I have done an absolutely terrible job at showing it, but I do care about you.”

Peter stood shell-shocked, unable to blink let alone move, he stared intently at Tony. 

“I don’t know what to say.” He finally grit out. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s a lot of things we both should have told one another. You should have told me about this Harry kid, I should have told you about my past. But it’s not too late to start over. Why don’t you leave the power tools with us, and we’ll drive you back to the garage.”

Peter shook his head wordlessly, still processing everything. “I’m sorry, but I have to give this to Mr. Osborne. Harry will be in big trouble if I don’t. He’s already been in big trouble since it took me so long to deliver the Bioweapon. I feel horrible. Harry’s been punished everyday I’ve been gone. That’s three weeks he’s suffered. It’s all my fault.”

“We can help Harry. But Peter, you cannot give Osborne those power tools. The fact that he wants a Bioweapon and a bunch of power tools, proves he’s going to hurt a lot more people than just Harry. We can’t let that happen.” Steve said. 

“We’re gonna need to steal back the Bioweapon. Maybe we can also plan a rescue operation for Harry Osborne.”

Bruce retaliated. “I don’t want to help anyone with the name Osborne.”

“Bruce. The kid - what’s his name? Harry? - he’s not his father. He is not responsible for any of the death’s his father has caused, and the fact that he didn’t want to steal the Bioweapon is a great sign.”

“I still don’t want to take him in.”

“That’s okay,” Peter said quickly. “Harry won’t want to be a part of this group anyways. He wants nothing to do with combat or secret agent stuff. He also wants nothing to do with crime either.”

“Smart kid,” Tony said. 

Peter laughed quietly to himself, “Dumbass wants to be a painter. I think it’s kinda cool though. But I would much rather be a secret agent than an artist, but to each their own. But mostly, I really want to be a part of the Avengers.”

Steve smiled. “You are, Queens. You are.”

Peter shot Tony a dirty glare, one of determination, to let Tony know he was not backing down from this. Not even after the ass-beating he was given in the field. Peter was determined to be a part of this life for some reason so Tony needed to accept it. He could do that. It just scared the ever-living hell out of him to think of Peter waltzing into dangerous situations on a daily basis. But Tony would just have to work ten times harder to try and protect him. And if that’s what he needed to do, then that was what he was going to do. He knew right in that moment that he would do anything for the kid. Anything. 

___________________

The car they took was too small to fit another person, so Tony stayed behind with Peter until Happy showed up. It was a unanimous decision between the Avengers to leave Tony behind since everyone knew Tony had some mending to do. Step number ten in the Avengers handbook: when you do something stupid, fix it. 

“Here boss.” Happy handed him a warm knitted blanket once he arrived. “Made that myself.”

“Did you? I didn’t know you were into crochet.”

Harry shrugged. “I needed a hobby.”

Tony grinned and slid the soft blanket over Peter’s shoulders as they sat in the backseat of the car. 

“Oh, thank you.” Peter whispered, nuzzling into the fabric. He might have been willing to ride with Tony, but he was stiff and uncomfortable - that was too clear. 

Happy poked his head towards the backseat.

“So is this the famous kid, huh? Is he still causing you problems? Want me to rough him up for you?”

“No, Happy. We like the kid.” Tony said. 

“We do? Since when?”

Peter chuckled quietly into the blanket. “I’d like to know that answer myself.”

“Since always, I just didn’t realize it.” Tony said between gritted teeth.

The boy sighed as he picked at the blanket fuzz with careful concentration. Happy turned around and started the engine. 

“Hey Hogan, can you give us a little privacy?” Tony gestured to the glass screen between the front and backseat. Happy nodded, and closed the gap so he couldn’t hear anything. 

Peter was pressing as far into the car door as his seatbelt would allow, making sure to keep his space. He turned his head to look out the window at the zipping cars flying past them. Tony did the same. After a few uncomfortable beats of silence, he broke the ice. 

“I’m sorry I hit you.” The weight of the day’s earlier events hung heavy on his shoulders.

“S’okay.” Peter snuffled. “Sorry about your face.” 

Tony grinned at that. The kid was a miniature Rocky. 

“Yeah, you have a good left hook.” He said.

“Seriously though, I’m sorry for punching you. I was just upset.” Peter said, turning to face him.

“Yeah, I was too, kid. I’m sorry for saying all that horrible stuff and calling you names. I was angry about training you. I didn’t want to teach you a skill that I thought would ruin your life. Trust me, you don’t want to be in a fight with weapons and you don’t wanna kill anyone.”

“I know.” He whispered quietly. “I was mad because I heard you say -“ 

For some reason Peter stopped talking, he stared out the window for a minute, and cozied under his blanket further. Tony watched him. 

“Hey, what is it?” He asked, gently patting Peter’s knee. 

“You said you owed me nothing. That I wasn’t your responsibility and that I wasn’t your kid. And! And! I know I’m not your kid, but - but I at least thought we were friends.”

His quiet admission cut to the bone. 

“Pete, when I said that, I was angry about training with you. My mind was all messed up. I know it’s a shitty excuse, but I was thinking about how dangerous this life is for you and I didn’t want to - I don’t know - manipulate you into joining the same way the Black Order did with me. I meant what I said about wanting to protect you, and how you remind me of my kid. So in a way, I do think of you as...my own. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It scared me, I guess. I failed so badly the first time.”

“Mr. Stark, you didn’t fail at being a father. Whatever happened the first time, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

Tony scoffed. “It was. I should have protected her. But I couldn’t. I was kidnapped but -.”

“There you go. You were kidnapped. It wasn’t your fault.” Then Peter’s eyes bulged. “Wait!? You were kidnapped?”

“I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be kidnapped.” He squeezed his hand into a fist. 

“Some things are out of our control.” 

“I should have escaped faster.”

Peter grabbed Tony’s forearm the same way Tony had done it to him less than 

24 hours ago and looked him square in the eye. “Now I need you to understand me. The only people to blame for her death are the people who killed her and who kidnapped you. That’s it. Not you. Do you understand?” 

Tony stared at him for a minute. “Yes.”

Peter released his grip and Tony massaged his wrist. “Jeez, did I squeeze you that tightly.”

Peter snorted, and rolled up his sleeve revealing two bruises in the size of fingertips on his forearms. 

“Sorry,” Tony winced. “Are you... in pain right now?”

Peter shrugged nonchalant. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s right. How could I forget. You’re Mr. Tough guy.”

Peter scrutinized him, to make sure the comment was playful. A smile graced his lips when he realized it was. 

“Seriously though. I’m sorry I hit you,” Tony repeated. “That won’t happen ever again. I promise.”

Peter grumbled something under his breath.

“I mean it. I won’t touch you. If you want, I can stay far away from you. We don’t have to train ever again either. You can train with Steve.”

“Mr. Stark. I’m not mad. I was, but I get why you did it. But the thing is, you told me this life isn’t for me, but that’s **not** your decision to make. It’s mine. And I like this life. I know it’s dangerous. I know stealing is wrong. But if we are helping FBI agents catch criminals, then it’s not that wrong, is it? I don’t know. Maybe it is. But I like it. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m doing something good. I can do it well. Now I know I’ve been bragging and I’ll stop because it’s rude. But I’ve just been excited. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I want to be a part of this team more than anything. Please just let me.”

Tony sucked in a breath. “Do you understand the consequences that might happen if you stay with us?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really? Think it through.”

Peter nodded. “I did think it through.”

“You could not have possibly thought it through.”

“Jail or death, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah, that’s a good start. There’s also kidnapping, and torture, and you mentioned jail, but do you know what they do to young boys in jail?” 

“Mr. Stark, you’re not gonna scare me away from this. I’ve made up my mind.”

“I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Eh, I think you are.”

“Okay maybe a little. But I’m also talking realistic stuff here, Pete.”

“I get it. I still want to do this.”

Tony sighed. A determined little thing, that damn kid. “Okay fine. You can be a part of the Avengers under two conditions.”

Peter raised his eyebrows to the sky. “Seriously? Really? Thank you, Mr. Stark! Thank you!”

Tony held a hand up. “Ah-Ah-Ah. The first condition is you go to school.”

“But -“

“Nope. This is non-negotiable.”

“But why?” Peter whined. 

“Because you might change your mind, and if you do, I want you to have a high-school diploma. You don’t have to go to college. But at least graduate high school.”

“Ugh,” Peter slumped in his seat. “Fine.”

“And second, you have to listen to Steve if you are a part of this team. We are a democracy so you will have a say in some important decisions. But since you are still a kid, I want you to act like Steve is your parent. Ask him if you’re allowed to go out. Don’t just take off on your own like you did tonight.”

“Steve? What about you?”

Tony shrugged. “I figured you didn’t want me to be your pretend Dad after everything I did to you.”

“Are you kidding? You’re the only one qualified, Mr. Stark. Steve will just give me whatever I want. You’re the only one that argues with me. Besides, you can dress a wound better than Steve, and you calm me down when I’m freaking out better than anyone. So you’re the real parent here.”

Tony tried to pretend the words didn’t mean that much to him but they meant the world. 

“Okay, I’m your pretend Dad then. Okay? Cool. So you ask me before leaving the garage.”

“Okay.” Peter smiled. “Do I have to ask you anything else?”

“Anything you would ask a Dad.”

Peter bit his lip. “I don’t have much experience with Dads. But I’ll try. Promise. Just promise me one thing.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Don’t ever beat me with a stick again. That fuckin’ hurt.”

Tony probably shouldn’t have snorted out laughing, but he couldn’t help himself, the way Peter had said it, and the way he was looking at him. 

“I’m serious,” Peter laughed. “No sticks. You can use a hanger, a brush, a book -“

“A book?” Tony raised an amused eyebrow.

“Yeah sure, I’ve been hit with books. It’s not too bad. No belts though. I hate those.”

“Mm, Pete, let me stop you there. I’m not ever gonna hit you again. I’m sorry we even have to have this sucky conversation.”

“Ah, you say that now, but we both have tempers and I know we might piss each other off again. I just want to lay down some ground rules.”

“Okay, okay. No sticks, no belts. Got it. It’s never gonna happen again, but I got it.”

Peter let out a lion’s yawn, and pulled the blanket closer to his body. “M’cold.”

Tony frowned considering the kid had a blanket, but he slipped off his jacket and tossed it over Peter’s shoulders before returning the blanket. 

“Oh, that’s better. Thank you.”

Tony smiled. 

“I’m sorry I took the Bioweapon.” Peter whispered. Tony could feel the guilt radiating off of Peter’s body. He quickly attempted to squash said guilt. 

“Don’t worry about it, kid. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. It’s late tonight. So when we get home, we’re all going to sleep.”

“Home.” Peter whispered, as if the concept seemed so foreign to him. After being in the system for so long, he most likely never felt like he had a real home. Hopefully now, the garage could start to feel like a real home for him. 

As the pulled up to the garage, Happy opened the gap between the front and back seat to talk with them. He mainly made a few jokes and asked Peter some easy get-to-know-you questions and then he was on his way. 

Once Happy was gone, Tony took Peter’s bag of power tools into the garage and placed it on the table.

“What about Harry?” Peter asked.

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna help him. But we’ll discuss all that tomorrow. Right now I need you to shower and then go to b-“

“Please don’t say it. I know what you mean.”

Tony nodded, respecting Peter’s wishes. He ushered the kid off to the bathroom and then went into the back to see if Steve was sleeping in one of the sleeping bags. Bruce and Clint were, but Steve must have been upstairs in one of the rooms. 

“Hey Tony,” Bruce mumbled sleepily. “Are you and Peter home?”

“Yup. The kid’s getting a shower. We worked some stuff out.”

“Good. That’s really good.”

Tony had to agree. He only wished they could have worked it out earlier to avoid the huge blowout. 

Upstairs, Tony told Steve they were home and safe, then he went into Peter’s room, a sudden idea striking him. 

Fifteen minutes later and Peter arrived from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his head, and sweatpants tied loosely around his waist. He paused in the doorway.

“What’s all this?” 

Tony grinned. “Oh nothing, just your basic concierge offering you a large selection of pleasures. We have TV, an old MP3 player with only the best rock songs of all time, a really inappropriate magazine just in case you’re feeling a little excited tonight. Let’s see, I have some books, refreshments, and a notebook in case you feel like drawing. Steve told me you like to draw.”

Peter stared at the tray table with a growing smile. “Wow you feel guilty.”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t,” Peter said kindly as he walked over to the bed that was fluffed and had a million pillows. “I already told you, I’m fine.”

“I know, but this is me trying to make it up to you.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Stark. I appreciate the gesture.” Peter slipped under the covers and rested his head on the propped pillows. “I feel like I’m in a hospital bed.”

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, actually, I am.” Peter snuggled further under the covers. “You shouldn’t spoil me like this. I could get used to it.”

Tony took a seat next to the bed, and grabbed one of the books off his tray table. 

“Goodnight kid.”

“No, no, you don’t have to stay in here all night. I’m fine.” 

“Shh, I’m trying to read.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter shook his head and nestled his face against the sheets. “Okay fine. Can you...um...read the book out loud?”

So he read out loud until Peter’s eyes remained closed for more than five minutes and his breathing was steady. Tony bookmarked his spot, then studied Peter for a moment. The kid looked so peaceful when he was asleep. 

Grabbing a glass of Orange soda from the tray table, Tony leaned back in his chair and grabbed another book. He used to read all the time when he was younger. It felt amazing to go back to some of his old habits. He couldn’t believe he was fighting his old self for so long. His old self was cool. 

After a while, he was roused out of his concentration by the sound of Peter shifting in his sleep. The boy now had his back turned to Tony, but he settled comfortably, so Tony went back to his book. 

This time, it took less than five minutes for Peter to flip back over, squirming to get comfortable. Tony looked at him, noticing a distressed look on his face. Tony wasn’t sure if he should wake the kid. He closed the book he was reading and gently placed it on the tray table. 

When Peter began to make a low whimpering noise, Tony decided to wake him. He shook Peter’s shoulder carefully, and the kid jolted awake, turning his head to Tony.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah kid. It’s alright. It was just a dream.”

Peter’s lower lips was trembling. And no, absolutely not. Tony could not handle seeing him cry twice in one day.

“Hey, hey, no, it’s okay.”

A single tear leaked from his eye, but Peter managed to hold most of it inside. He was apparently a pro at pushing back his emotions by now. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Peter whispered. 

“Why? Are you mad. It’s alright if you are. Just get it out there in the open.”

“No. Not mad. I just don’t want you to see me like this. At night... I like to be alone at night so I can...”

“You need to cry?” Tony whispered, feeling utterly sorry for the kid. 

“I always need to cry.” Peter mumbled. “Too many bad memories. I can never sleep. Most of the time I lay awake.”

Tony rubbed his arm. “Most of the time I can’t sleep either.” He admitted. 

Peter nodded. “Makes sense then, why we kept bumping into each other at night.”

Tony laughed softly, but another tear made it’s way down Peter’s face. Gently, Tony thumbed it away.

“Let’s make a good memory.” Tony suggested, pouring another glass of Orange Crush for the kid. He handed it to Peter and grabbed the remote controller. “What do you like to watch?”

Peter hummed, and shifted upright on the bed, placing a few more pillows to prop him up. “I dunno. I’ll watch anything really.”

Nestled in the uncomfortable chair, but cozy with a blanket, Tony flipped on some late night TV. After switching from one ad commercial to the next, he stopped on a game show. 

Outside, the rain had started up again. Earlier it was storming like mad, but then it stopped leaving dark ugly clouds covering the sky. But finally, Tony could hear the rain come down again. It was good for the clouds to cry. They get the rain out of their system and then they are good as new. 

He handed Peter a pack of Oreos before gluing his eyes to the TV screen. 

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony rubbed his eyes awake. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for staying awake with me. It’s nice to not be alone in the dark.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for keeping me company. I spend half my nights staring at the ceiling too so it’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

Peter grinned, and handed Tony an Oreo. “You should dip it into your soda it’s the weirdest taste ever.”

Tony snorted, and tipped the Oreo in his drink. This kid, man, he just does something to you. Tony thinks he loves him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. 
> 
> I hope this chapter eases a lot of the previous concerns about Peter and Tony. They’ve got this :)
> 
> Also, we finally get some answers as to why Peter kept walking around the garage in the middle of the night. The secrets are out!


	11. Step 11: N̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ Open your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while we can pretend   
> That good things don’t have to end

Soft white covers snuggled against Peter’s body. He was on his side, cheek pressed gently against the cool white sheets under him. Despite all the fluffy pillows Tony gave him last night, the boy discarded them when he finally fell asleep around 4am and they were now scattered on the floor. 

As for Tony, well, he didn’t sleep at all. The chair was much too uncomfortable and he was too worried about the kid to get any real sleep. Yesterday was insane: The huge fight, Peter running away and giving the Bioweapon to Norman Osborne; then he stole some power tools but the Avengers stopped him before he could give it to Osborne. Unfortunately if Osborne wanted power tools he could easily steal them himself or fuck, he could _buy_ them. Power Tools weren’t that expensive and the guy was rich from all his thefts, so really, whatever sick twisted plan he had, it was still going to happen, with or without Peter’s help. They might have delayed him by a day but in the grand scheme of things, a day wasn’t worth much. 

With a quick glance at the alarm clock, Tony knew the other’s would be awake by now, ready to discuss a way to stop him. But they did not come to collect Tony or Peter. For some reason, they were giving them space.

Peter made a soft noise from where he laid, a faint murmur on an indrawn breath, but Tony noticed it immediately. He rose halfway out of his chair. 

“Kid? You awake?”

It was only 7:30 in the morning. If he was awake, then he got less than three hours of sleep. 

More mumbles tumbled from his lips unchecked. This time they were a little more discernible. Tony’s not sure which was worse. The kid’s incoherent babble, or this string of unguarded words that Peter would never say if he was awake. 

“Take me instead.” His feet twisted in the sheets, as if he were trying to find a way to free himself from whatever torment his mind was causing him. “Don’t hurt him.”

This was a private part of Peter, something he worked very hard to keep hidden everyday. Under the layers of wise remarks, and that fake ‘I don’t give a damn what happens to me’ attitude, Peter was scared. 

“I don’t wanna go. Please. I don’t wanna go.”

_Go where_? Tony knew he shouldn’t try to analyze this. It would be wrong for him to analyze something he wasn’t supposed to hear in the first place. 

Moving light from the rising sun flickered over Peter’s face, highlighting the frantic fluttering under his eyes. 

“Peter,” Tony whispered, and Peter’s eyes opened. He wasn’t sleeping very well if he was able to wake that easily. 

“Oh hey,” The kid lifted his head off the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Early. You should get some more sleep.”

Tony wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t notice the bloodshot eyes. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m ready to talk about how we’re going to help Harry.”

Peter climbed out of the bed, and shuffled over to the dresser where he kept his new clothes. 

To keep himself occupied in an attempt to give Peter some privacy, Tony began making the bed. 

“Oh. I can do that if you want. Sorry. I didn’t know you wanted the bed made.” Hurrying over to help, Peter left his shirt on the dresser and began tugging at the sheets. 

“Peter, I don’t care about the bed. I was just waiting for you to get dressed.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” There was only so much of this Tony could take, and he didn’t want to spend all day watching Peter skirt around him like he was walking on eggshells. 

“Okay, what’s wrong?” 

“What do you mean?” Peter was now fully dressed in his blue jeans and snug white t-shirt. Tony smirked as he saw the boy roll up his short sleeves and clip them with a safety pin. Badass mixed with innocent school boy. Yup, Peter was still the same person. 

“You’re acting skittish.”

Peter snorted, “No, I’m not.” 

As much as Tony wanted open communication, it wasn’t worth an argument so he let it go. 

__________________

“There they are,” Steve placed a plate of scrambled eggs on the table. “We have an idea.” 

Tony went to sit, but Peter remained standing, shifting his weight on both feet. 

“Um,” he cleared his throat. Everyone’s movements slowed, and Clint’s loud bantering died out.

“I just wanted to say... that... I’m sorry for what I did yesterday. I shouldn’t have - I _should_ have told you about Harry instead of just giving the bioweapon away. I - I understand if you don’t want me anymore. But if you let me stay, I promise you I will work ten times harder and - and I’ll tell you everything from now on.”

Wow kid, why don’t you just come out and say: _I’ll be good._

Even though Tony told the kid he could stay, Peter was worried about the others. He must feel like he betrayed their trust. 

They all just stared at him, and Peter was wringing the bottom of his t-shirt so tightly it was leaving wrinkles.

“Queens,” Steve was the first to respond with such heartbroken conviction it sent everyone else into action immediately. 

Natasha pulled him in for a hug, and patted his back. “How many times do we have to tell you, we want you to stay?”

“But... no.” Peter pushed back, shaking his head frantically. “You _can’t_. I was - I was bad! I took your stuff. I ran away. You should send me far away. You should call the cops and get me taken back home.”

Steve furrowed his brows, “Do you want to go?”

“No! No I don’t, but -“

“Then stay. All of us here have made a million mistakes in our lives. If we started pointing the finger and kicking each other out over every mistake, nobody would be left.”

Peter shook his head again. “I don’t understand... why are you forgiving me so easily. I went behind your back and gave away your bioweapon. I could have gotten you all in so much trouble.”

“You made the right choice last night by coming back with us.” Bruce pointed out. “And now you’re going to help us retrieve the Bioweapon. See, all that matters is if you do something stupid, you try to fix it.”

“Thank you,” the kid whispered, eyes glistening from the light, or maybe he had some unshed tears. Either way, Tony could tell he was beyond grateful. Most likely, no one had ever forgiven him before. It must be weird for him to have a group of friends who were willing to defend him. 

“So are you ready to hear our plan?”

_____________________

As far as plans go, Steve Rogers was always amazing at crafting them. Tony was not afraid to give credit to where credit was deserved. 

In the car ride to Osborne’s house, Tony sat next to Peter in the back while Natasha rode up front along with Happy. She was lucky, she got front row seats to the best AC/DC concert ever to exist. Tony prided himself on buying that live concert CD. 

For once, he was in good spirits and confident Steve’s plan was going to work, which was hilarious because this was going to be their most difficult job yet. This time, Fury did not approve of it either; he didn’t know what they were up to and if they were caught, he most likely wouldn’t bail them out of jail. So the amount of pressure riding on this thing was high.

Peter was bouncing his knee up and down, not sharing Tony’s confidence. Right now, he looked wiped-out. The bruised dark-circles under his eyes contrasting starkly with the milky pallor of his skin. Tony felt his own bones ache with sympathy. They both needed better sleeping habits. 

Gently, he placed his hand on Peter’s knee, steadying it from the rhythmic bounce. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll get your friend out safely.”

Peter nodded solemnly, guilt still shining in his eyes. 

“I’m just as much to blame for what happened yesterday as you.” Tony assured him. “You can’t beat yourself up like this.” 

Nodding again, Peter planted a smile on his face. “You’re right. Hey, Mr. Stark? What’s your favorite song ever?”

Very random question, but Tony wasn’t going to pass an opportunity to talk about Back in Black.

Through a long conversation, he ended up spilling a lot about himself. Tony was surprised how easy it was to talk about his past with Peter. The boy was like a sponge, soaking up every word and wanting more. 

They talked about Tony’s first concert, how he snuck out of his house to go to it. They talked about his first school dance, how he’ll never forget the song Every Breath You Take because of the girl he was with that night. 

“Was she your future wife?” Peter seemed so hopeful. As if love really worked that easily. How nice would it be if the first person he had a crush on could be his forever person. 

“No, I met my wife, Pepper, when I was twenty. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. She was my personal assistant.”

“That’s right, you said you were rich, right?”

“Yup I was, before Obadiah stole everything from me.”

“Sorry.” Peter looked down at his hands, worried he might have upset his friend. 

“It’s okay. That was a long time ago. I’ll never completely get over the pain, but I’m okay talking about it.”

Peter placed his hand over top of Tony’s. The boy wasn’t perfect with words - Tony wasn’t either - but small gestures were what made Peter the best kid ever. 

“Pepper and I also danced a lot.” Tony said. 

“Really! What song did you dance too? Was it at a party?” Peter’s eyes widened comically. 

“We danced in her parents basement. Pepper was a family girl, and I loved how much she cared about the people in her life. I knew she was going to make a great mother that night. We listened to _You’re The Inspiration_ , believe it or not.”

Peter giggled. “I like that song.” 

“You know it?”

“Mhm,” Peter nodded. “My mom... I don’t know much about her, I have no memories of her, but I have a baggie of her things. They gave me a bag of my parents belongings when I was moved into my first foster home. Anyways, she had a CD of Chicago. So I listened to that song a lot.”

“Small world.” Tony had a bright smile on his face. Who would have thought this random boy in an apartment building would grow to mean so much to him? The world worked in mysterious ways. 

They stopped for coffee before the mission, and within that time, Tony learned a lot about Peter too. 

The kid remembered his first foster parents well. He said he was just a baby for the first couple of years but by the time he was three he remembered them teaching him how to write his name. Apparently the woman was beautiful, according to Peter, and the man would take Peter outside and help him climb up a treehouse. 

“May and Ben. They were my best friends. Honestly, they were my real parents since they are the ones I remember hugging every day.”

He lived with them until he was six and then something happened to the husband. Peter was said it was a random act of violence, that some guy was robbing cars and he happened to shoot Ben in the process. Unable to deal with her husband’s death, May gave Peter back to the agency. Peter was immediately adopted by a not-so-kind woman after that, who had several other foster children. He got locked in his room and forgotten in that home. 

“It was the first time I realized not all grown-ups were nice.”

When he was seven he was in another foster home. The woman gave him up because he cried too much. 

The next home, and Peter felt what it was like to be slapped. 

The next home and he was forced to eat off the floor. It kept getting worse, Tony realized sadly. 

“I remember the car pulling up to the house and the driver said, welcome to hell. I’ll never forget that for as long as I live. The guy was right too. It was hell.”

Needless to say that asshole foster parent didn’t pass the check-up. Peter was taken to a group home after that. He said from there it gets blurry because he ran into so many people it was hard to keep track. 

“I grew used to looking at myself as a commodity. Something people bought and sold as they pleased.”

He ran into plenty of people that just wanted him for the stipends and money, and not because they loved children. Peter learned to be quiet. The more quiet he was, the less he got beat. He flew under the radar in order to protect himself. Some people were crueler than others, but essentially, Peter hadn’t had a normal life since he was six. 

“So no school dances?”

“Wasn’t allowed.”

“No best friends?” 

“One or two, but I always moved.”

“Longest place you’ve stayed.”

“My first foster home, six years.”

“After that.”

“Eight months with Toomes.”

“You’re kidding. He’s been your longest foster home since?”

“Well technically my longest stay was in a juvenile detention center. Two years. I didn’t like it very much. I thought maybe I would since I wouldn’t have to suffer being beaten so badly, but they worked me like a mule.”

“What did you do to get sent there?”

“I don’t like to talk about it.” 

Tony knew better than to push. Lord knows he’s done shitty things too. He would’ve got sent to the big house if it wasn’t for Rhodey. He was Tony’s ally - someone Tony could count on when the going got tough. 

“Who would you say your best ally has been?” 

“Other than you guys, it’s definitely been Harry Osborne.” 

Which brought them back to the current mission. Saving Harry Osborne and retrieving the Bioweapon. 

__________________

“Go! Go! Go!” Steve screamed, shoving Harry Osborne in the back of his car. 

Using the rope to swing down from the top of the building, Peter hit the ground running. He had two guards he was busy distracting while the other Avengers were working on fighting in various sections of the building. 

Last Tony checked, Bruce had secured the Bioweapon. Now it was just a matter of getting them out of said building which was easier said than done. 

Tony couldn’t keep his eyes on the kid for long, but he managed to see Peter leap over a few car windshields in his attempt to distract the guards. 

“I have the Osborne kid in the car. I’m going to get him outta here, can the rest of you fit in Happy’s car?” Steve screamed through the coms. 

“Most likely, no.” Tony replied, too busy punching some guy’s face to really care. “But we’ll make it work. Just get him outta here.”

___________________

Three hours later and the Avengers were having a toast in an Apple Bee’s, clasping Peter and Harry on the back, and cheering at the top of their lungs. 

The Bioweapon was safe, and the kids were happy, and no one was miserable for the first time in a long time. What was even better, was the fact that Nick Fury was back in town and he was coming that evening to pick up the Bioweapon. Tony would be so happy when it was out of their hands. 

If life was a movie, Tony would say this was the happy ending they were all waiting for. He shook his head fondly as Peter babbled happily to his friend, gesturing wildly towards the Avengers. Peter’s friend had dark hair and piercing green eyes - not at all resembling Norman Osborne. He was very much his own person, Tony could tell within the few minutes he heard him speak. This kid wasn’t going to follow anyone’s path but his own. 

Harry huffed out a breath, laughing softly. “I swear to God, Pete, you’re gonna get us killed one of these days.”

Peter cracked a grin, “What? You’re the one with the crazy Dad.”

“Dude, you’re the one with Barbie styled hair and freaky superpowers.”

“I don’t have Barbie hair, asshole.” Peter gave him a shove, but every movement with Harry was playful and gentle. Tony could easily see the difference from how Peter was with his friend from how on edge he was around everyone else. “And I don’t have superpowers either. I told you, the Avengers have been training me.”

“Dude, you practically climbed a forty foot wall with nothing but a rope. That’s insane. How were you not scared? And you jumped so insanely high I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

Peter threw his head back with a laugh, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, let me order you some pretzels and I’ll tell you all about my training.”

“Did you suddenly get rich, Pete?” Harry eyes were focused on the wad of cash Peter had whipped out of his pocket.

Peter didn’t answer, too busy gesturing to the waitress and ordering food politely. For a brief second, Tony saw himself in the kid. His mind flashed to when he would do the same thing to avoid a conversation with Fury. Damn. Peter even had the same defense mechanism as Tony. 

“I guess I really should say thank you.” Harry continued, “Even if I think you are a crazy bastard for what you did. You saved me.”

Peter snorted at Harry’s sappy remark, shoving a salted pretzel in his friend’s hand. The cheese dip sat in the middle of the table for them to share. 

“Shut up. I only returned the favor for all the months you helped me.” 

“You do know my father is going to be looking for me, right?”

Peter nodded. “I would say you can stay with us if you want, but my friend, Bruce, he really hates your Dad. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s cool. I know the feeling. My Dad’s not exactly high on my friend list right now either.” Harry rubbed at his severely bruised arm. When Peter found him, there was a needle shoved deep inside. He had to carefully take it out. Steve saw it too but didn’t say anything. 

“Does it hurt?” Peter handed him an ice cold Pepsi. 

“Eh, a little. I’ll be okay. Isn’t that what you always said when you showed up at my house covered in bruises?”

Peter nodded with a smile.

“Hey boys, you want to play a game of darts with me?” Clint interrupted from the corner of the room. 

“Yes!” Peter was out of his seat in seconds. “Harry needs to learn how to play.” The kid dragged his friend over to where Clint was standing and grabbed the darts. “I’ll show you a trick!” 

Tony sipped his martini, and watched fondly as Peter spun around and through the dart, hitting the board almost dead center. 

“It’s all about momentum.” 

Peter pumped his fist, and gave Tony a quick thumbs up. 

Tony cocked his head towards the waitress and whispered proudly, “I taught him that trick.” 

“So, boys, I have to know.” Clint said as he steadied his dart. “Do you believe in Aliens?”

“Aliens?” Harry chuckled. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“I believe in the movie, Aliens.” Peter responded, just as Clint let go of his dart. Despite Peter’s abrupt comment, the dart landed perfectly in the center of the board.

“Because Aliens might be the only creatures in the universe that can defeat me at darts.” 

Peter laughed along with the rest of the Avengers, and for a moment everything felt right. Like a blanket of peace was falling over them, and Tony could finally wrap himself with the warmth of that shared peace. 

But it was only for a moment because nothing peaceful and good ever lasted in Tony’s life. It was like he was a curse. 

They had finished their dart game, tipped the waitress and piled near the bathroom door as they waited for Steve to emerge. He told them to wait in the car, but the crew liked to annoy him by invading his privacy. 

Earlier, Bruce went home with Natasha. He couldn’t stand being around an Osborne and no one blamed him. So rather than making Bruce really angry, and traumatizing Harry, they suggested Bruce go home and relax. That being said, they were down a car. So that meant Steve was their ride home anyways. He couldn’t get rid of them if he tried. However, Tony did call Happy Hogan, his amazing and trustworthy driver, so he could deliver the Osborne kid somewhere safe. 

While they were waiting by the bathroom door, Harry was getting more anxious by the minute. 

“Do you think I should go to a hotel?”

Peter shrugged. “I think Mr. Stark said he had someplace you could stay? Right?”

Tony hummed and put his phone back in his pocket. “Yeah, I have some friends. There’s this FBI agent, James Rhodes. I called him earlier and asked if he’d be okay having you over for a few days. He said he’d be happy to have you and he’d even help you get on your feet and find your own place.”

“Wow. That’s really nice of him.” Harry voice was flat. 

“He really will help you, kid. Trust me, the guy owes me a favor.”

“No offense, sir. But nobody is that nice. He’ll want something.”

Peter nodded along with Tony. Maybe Rhodey would want something in return, but if he does, he’s going to be asking Tony to return the favor, not Harry.

“You can trust him.” Peter whispered in his friend’s ear. 

“No offense, Pete... you know I love you like a brother, but are you sure this is the group of friends _you_ should be trusting?” Harry looked at Tony and quickly held up his hands in defense, “No offense, sir! I’m sure you’re a great guy.”

“I’m not.” Tony replied dryly, leaving Harry even more flustered. 

“Oh - uh. Yeah. See, that’s kinda my point.”

“I trust them,” Peter shot Tony a glare, like hey, thanks a lot for making this more difficult. “We’ve been through a lot together; and we both lied to each other but I think that’s why I trust Mr. Stark even more now.”

Harry - bless him - tried to understand. At the very least, he put his arm on Peter’s shoulder and gave him a brief hug. “Well I’m happy for you, man. I hope you can finally get some rest. I know how stressed you were with Toomes.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter snickered quietly. “Yeah, those were some bad times.”

A vibrating phone saved Tony from any awkward moments. He picked it up and answered quick, allowing the boys to say their goodbyes in peace. 

When he returned, Peter was sharing a drag of Harry cigarette. 

“Happy’s here. He’s gonna take your to Rhodey’s house if that’s okay with you.” 

Harry gave Peter an indecipherable glance, and then nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see ya around then, Pete.”

Peter hugged his friend tightly to his chest. “Don’t worry. Happy is really nice, and I’m sure this Rhodey is too.” 

“You never met him before!? Peter!”

“I told you, you can trust them. Come on, we’re the one’s that saved you from being shot up with whatever it was your Dad was injecting you with.”

“Yeah kid, what was your Dad injecting you with?”

As if on cue, Happy showed up behind them holding a bag of Dunkin Donuts, successfully interrupting their conversation. Harry grinned widely, excited to go with the man now that he had food. 

“Bye Pete. Mr. Stark, sir. Have uh - good night.”

Tony and Peter exchanged a smile, while they watched Happy and Harry exit the restaurant and get into the black Audi.

A second later and the bathroom door opened. Steve walked out, wiping his washed hands on his jeans. “You guys didn’t have to wait for me,” he said, a flush creeping up his neck. 

“You’re our ride, Rogers.” Tony grinned. Seeing Steve so flustered was his medicine for the evening. He could sleep peacefully now. 

“I thought I heard Happy’s voice?” Steve said. 

“He just left with Harry. So that leaves us.”

“And me.” Clint called from bench where he was laying. 

“I think Peter was including you when he said “us” dingbat.”

“Watch it, Stark.” Clint pretended to send another arrow Tony’s way. “I’ll take you out.”Rolling his eyes fondly, Tony smacked Clint upside the head.

“Don’t test me, Barton.” He walked out of the restaurant with his team, and playfully jumped on Clint’s back. 

“Oh my God, you’re heavy, you over-grown-child.” Clint grunted and groaned as they crossed the street. 

“So who’s up for a movie tonight?” Steve asked. He was carrying a bag of left-overs in his arms. 

“I’m up for Aliens.” Peter giggled. 

“We saw that last night.” Steve complained. 

“How about Indiana Jones. You ever see that movie, kid?”

“No.”

“Oh my God.” Clint shook his head in such disappointment. 

“Wow. We need to seriously educate you.” Steve unlocked his car door, sending the headlights blinking.

“I was thinking we should make a list of all the movies the kid has seen and then all the movies we have seen, and we can like cross reference them.” Clint’s laugh died quickly, when his eyes caught glimpse of a shadow on the pavement. 

He spun on his heels, with an arrow raised. “Who are you?”

“There you are!” The figure said, and Tony knew that voice. It was Adrian Toomes. Just as he suspected, the white haired man walked into the lighted part of the parking lot and grabbed Peter’s wrist. 

“Where the hell have you been?” He shook Peter fiercely, bouncing the kid’s head all around just like he did before.

“I - I -“

“Who the hell are you?” Steve asked, and Clint kept his arrow aimed at Toomes’ shoulder. The man snapped his gaze away from Peter and finally realized the arrow being pointed at him. 

“I should be asking you the same thing.” He sneered, pulling Peter behind him. A weird gesture of protection coming from this asshole. “Did you have something to do with this kid going missing? Did you kidnap him or something? Or was he really foolish enough to runaway on his own?” 

“I’ll repeat. Who the hell are you?” Steve barked. 

“This is Adrian Toomes. He’s my foster father, and no. No one kidnapped me. I just met these people. They have nothing to do with me running away.”

Toomes turned back to Peter with a venomous glare. “Get your ass in the car.”

Peter breathed air through his nostrils, and ripped his arms away from the man. “No.”

“What the hell did you just say?” 

“I said no.”

“You little brat.” Toomes seethed like a fully grown python. “Your case worker is gonna be here any day now and I’m not losing my stipend because you decided to run away. Now get your ass in the car.”

“Why don’t you make me.”

Toomes licked his lips and took a dangerous step towards Peter. He was about two inches from the kid’s face. “Okay, Pedro.” 

In a flash, his fist was flying, but Peter stopped it with ease, and then threw one himself. 

Gasping at the perfectly landed punch, Toomes held his hand over his bloodied lip.

“You worthless little bitch!” He screamed in a pitch most men couldn’t reach. “Do you want to go back to Juvie? Throw another punch. Just one fucking punch and I swear to God, I’ll make that happen. Is that what you want? To go back to living in a cell everyday? Or maybe you want to go back to the Boys home where they worked you into the ground. You wanna scrub floors with a toothbrush again? Huh? You want that?” Toomes shook him hard.

“No.” Peter said in the deepest voice Tony has ever heard from him.

“Then don’t hit me,” Toomes shrieked, pulling his belt from his loops, and hell no. 

Tony wasn’t going to sit by and let this happen again. He let it happen once in that damn apartment room, but he wasn't going to let it happen again. 

He moved into action, but Steve grabbed his jacket and yanked him back. 

“Don’t.” He whispered in his ear as Tony struggled to free himself.

“Rogers, get the hell off me.” 

Peter was yanked over the hood of a car, presumably Toomes’, and slammed with excessive force. 

“Let go, Steve! I NEED TO HELP HIM.”

There was a deafening sound of leather striking skin, and Tony elbowed Steve in the ribs, but Clint was now holding him back as well. 

What the hell was wrong with these people?! Didn’t the care about Peter!?

“Tony, we can’t!”

“Of course we can. Let me go.” Tony struggled even harder now, not paying attention to how much he was hitting his friends, but solely focused on trying to save Peter. He was so tried of watching Peter get hurt. 

“If that guy calls the police on us, we’re all fucking screwed! Do you understand?”

“We’ll get Fury on the phone and he’ll take care of it.” 

“Fury doesn’t help us unless we’re doing a job for him!”

“I don’t care. I’ll kill the bastard so he can’t call the police if that’s what it takes.”

“Okay, see, this is why we’re holding you back.” Steve grunted, “Because you’re talking crazy!” 

“Besides, Fury’s definitely not going to help us if we have a murder charge.” Clint whispered in his other ear. 

Panting heavily, Tony watched as Toomes lifted Peter off the hood of the car and threw him in the backseat. 

“Oh don’t start crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about.” The bastard said as he slammed the door shut. 

A feral growl ripped it’s way out of Tony’s mouth while he watched with dread as the car disappeared down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :) Happy Sunday. So was that unexpected?


	12. Step 12: Protect those you love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many people   
> are hurting   
> in their own way  
> Trying to heal  
> in their own way.
> 
> Even if we don’t   
> always talk about it,  
> I am rooting for all of us  
> to be okay. 
> 
> \- Liz Newman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE!! :) 
> 
> Apparently February is the month for Whump as well, and let me tell you, this chapter delivers in that way. It’s my most Whumpy one yet. That being said, I also think there is a moment in the middle of this where the comfort is really cute. Hopefully you agree. But yeah, it’s a very rough beginning so WARNING ⚠️ If you do not want to read some graphic child abuse (nothing crazy, but a decently graphic beating) then feel free to skip the beginning and go right to the 1st page break. From there, you should be good!!! :) And that way you won’t miss any of the other important stuff. Okay my lovely readers, have fun!!!

When Peter awoke his ears were ringing terribly. He couldn’t hear anything except a high-pitched humming noise. 

The floor...

He was on the floor. The ringing was growing louder and louder, giving him a splitting headache.

There was an ominous swish behind him and then the back of his shoulders burst into white-hot-flames. Peter cried out in anguish trying desperately to stand. But his legs weren’t responding. Maybe he really wasn’t trying all that hard. He felt so dizzy. 

Resting his head on the cool hard wooden floor, Peter could see a puddle around his legs. It was red? Oh right. His blood. He was bleeding. 

But where was he? Peter lifted his head slightly, regretting the movement when a throb began burning over his temple. Why did everything hurt? 

Squinting at the bright ceiling light, Peter could vaguely see Adrian Toomes talking with his daughter, Liz. 

Oh right. Peter was in Toomes’ apartment.

Then, all at once, the painful foggy ringing in his ears evaporated and Peter could hear everything clearly. It was as if a boom of sound struck him at once, and Peter recoiled back. 

“Dad stop it! You’re going to kill him! Stop!” Liz was screaming so loud, Peter almost wanted the ringing to return just so he could muffle her shrills. 

“Go back to your room. I’m not going to say it again.” Adrian boomed, and Peter swore the entire room shook. 

Why was everyone screaming? 

“He’s crying. Okay? He gets it. Just stop.”

Was Peter crying? He didn’t remember that part. As of now, he wasn’t. Maybe earlier he was...

Earlier.

That’s right, when he first arrived in the apartment, Toomes had shoved him to the ground and started kicking him. And Peter tried so desperately to remember what Natasha had taught him. He hooked his feet around Toomes’ feet, ready to knock the man down, but the next thing he knew, his legs were being stepped on, and kicked.

Peter clawed his finger nails into the rug beneath his palms refusing to scream. He kept waiting to hear a sickening crack but nothing like that happened. 

“Don’t you ever run away from me again.” Toomes moved on to kicking Peter’s stomach next. 

Gasping for air, Peter curled into himself, but the kicking didn’t stop. He cried out in pain at a particularly hard kick, and began to scoot his butt against the wooden floor until he knocked into the dinning room chair. 

He didn’t want to go out without a fight. If Toomes was determined to give him a mindless beating, then Peter was going to fight back the best he could. So he used the chair. 

It took a lot of effort to throw it across the room. Peter had no idea how Bruce did that so easily, but it had the desired effect. Adrian Toomes fell backwards and Peter had the chance to get up, but his legs were so hurt from where Adrian beat on them. 

Still, Peter stood anyways, moaning and complaining as he hobbled over towards the door. And that’s when the back of his head was bashed with something like a beer bottle. Peter fell wearily to his knees. 

Toomes kicked him over onto his stomach and sliced his ass with the belt. Peter howled, clenching the carpet in his fists, so angry with the world, and so hurt by everything. It was his mind that was tormenting him even more than the biting, stinging, relentless pain on his skin. He didn’t want to think about the Avengers, or how he almost had a family, or how he was left holding the splintered remains of everything he ever wanted - worked for, fought for, bled for. His family. How he lost them so quickly. How they let him get taken away so quickly. No, Peter couldn’t think about any of this or he would surely break. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would he ever see Mr. Stark again? Steve? Natasha? Bruce? Clint? Were they gone for good? Would he even survive this? 

Random strikes were falling faster and faster all over Peter’s body. His back, his hips, his ass, his legs. Peter had no idea where the pain would come next and that threw off his concentration. Unwanted tears sprung to his eyes. 

_Dammit he was stronger than this!_

Peter willing the tears back, holding them behind his eyes the best he could. 

“Don’t you ever leave this house again.” Toomes screamed, and Peter pressed his mouth into the chair leg. He needed something to prevent the noises that were escaping his lips. For a moment his mind flashed to Mr. Stark and the washcloth and the stitches. Mr. Stark was so quick and careful, nothing like the madman that was wailing on him right now.

Beads of blood gathered on his abused skin. Peter couldn’t see it, but he could feel the wet seeping through his jeans, through his shirt. Damn, Toomes really was beating the hell out of him over this. He needed it to stop. 

Peter soon realized with growing dread that Toomes might never stop beating him, at least, not for a long time, even though Peter was bleeding. 

Too scary of a thought, Peter put all his focus on remaining quiet, but eventually his screams came through his gritted teeth. And then he was opening his mouth and wailing out his misery to what felt like no one at the time but he soon realized that his screaming must have alerted Liz, and caused her to intervene. 

The belt stopped for a few seconds and that’s when the ringing took over, and Peter passed out. 

“Please, Dad. That’s enough! He’s home now so everything’s okay.” Liz shouted. 

“He needs to be taught a lesson. Can’t have him running off like that again.” The man was officially losing his mind. If his voice was any indication, he sounded like the Joker. 

“No! Put it down.”

Peter winced at the sound. A hiss through the air, and he tensed every muscle in his body, expecting the blow to land anywhere but it never did. 

Peaking his eyes open, he saw Liz battling with her father for the belt. She wasn’t going to win. Peter wanted to tell her to just go to her room so she wouldn’t have to be in the crossfire, but he appreciated her interference. It gave him some time to regain his strength. But still, he didn’t want Liz to get hurt. 

He tried to stand up, only to see the world swirl together in a blend of color. He fell helplessly back to the ground. But the noise of his body collapsing helped Liz get the belt out of her father’s hand. 

“Fine.” Toomes shouted erratically. “You want that belt? Keep it. There are plenty of other things I can beat him with.”

“No Dad, stop! You’re going crazy! This isn’t you. Okay? You’re mad, you’re just mad. Why don’t you go to bed and sleep it off. Or go to the gym! Yeah! You should go to the gym.”

Peter watched as Toomes scooped Liz by the waist, and lifted her over his shoulder. She screamed in protest, flailing her arms and legs. Peter wanted to help her. It was enough encouragement for him to stand on shaky legs, but he was mainly using the wall for support. 

Toomes tossed Liz into her bedroom and locked the door. At least he didn’t try to beat her too. 

But then he turned back to Peter with a glazed over look in his eyes, and Peter’s heart sank as quickly as he legs did. He was now curled up on the floor, back against the wall, helplessly watching as Toomes picked up an iPhone charger. 

Peter didn’t like the sound it made as he swooshed it through the air. 

“Hey Pedro.” Toomes smirked as he approached. 

Peter winced, closing his eyes. All he asked was that Toomes didn’t whip him in the face. Vaguely aware he was whimpering, Peter tried to hold his breath and stop sounding so pathetic but it only served to make his breathing hitch even worse. This was going to be bad. 

Following the hissing sound of the chord was a burning pain that branded his cheek. Peter openly cried for the first time since he was a little kid. It’s the type of cry babies give when they fall for the first time and scrape their knees. But Peter didn’t care. His face _burned_. Heat radiated off the swollen stripe lining his jawbone up to his cheek. He shot Toomes the most pitiful look he could muster in hopes that the man might show some mercy.

For some reason, it worked. Maybe it was the look Peter gave, or maybe it was his crying, or maybe it was the swollen patch of skin, or Liz’s screaming from the other room. But Adrian Toomes put down the white chord and stopped his violent crusade. He rolled his eyes seemingly irritated by all the commotion. As if Peter’s tears were somehow a nuisance to him. 

“Are you ready to go to bed?” 

Peter nearly hurled. If going to bed meant another beating then no, he was not ready. Not ever. Peter would never sleep again. So he shook his head, his body convulsing with sobs as he began to make gagging noises. Maybe he really was going to puke. There were some moments in life, when he didn’t care how pathetic he looked, and right now was one of them. 

“Okay fine. Sleep on the floor if you want.” Toomes muttered, walking over the the lamp and turning it off before shutting his bedroom door. 

Unable to move without pain exploding across his abdominal, Peter stayed on the floor in hopes that sleep would come quickly. Or death. That would be nice too. 

“Peter, are you okay?” Liz’s muffled voice from behind the locked door was the last thing he heard before drifting into sleep, or unconsciousness. He wasn’t sure which. 

_________________

“The lights just went out. Now’s our chance to get him out of there.” Tony said, already opening the car door. 

“Hold on a second, Tony.” 

“We don’t have a second! Peter could be injured for all we know!”

Steve turned to him with the sternest glare Tony had ever seen. “If we go in there now, Toomes will still have a chance to call the cops. We need to wait until he’s gone.”

“You’re not listening to me. I said Peter could be injured. We should have stopped them outside the restaurant. Who knows what that asshole could have done to the kid since.”

“I hear you, Tony, I do. But what I’m saying is, we’re no good to Peter if we’re in jail. He’ll end up in another foster home and who knows how well they will treat him. So let’s wait. This is our mission now, and like every mission we need to have a stakeout.”

“We waited long enough.” Tony growled. “I’m not going to risk waiting too long and losing the kid. I’m not losing that fucking kid. Do you understand me, Rogers? I can’t!”

“Boys,” Natasha snapped, trying to break the very uneasy conversation. “Why don’t we create a diversion like we normally do?”

They all turned their eyes to Natasha, waiting for her to explain more.

“Another fire alarm?” She asked with a shrug and Steve shook his head. 

“We have to do this more conspicuously. The goal is to _not_ get arrested.”

A lightbulb went off in Tony’s mind. He spun around to look at Bruce. “Do you still have that AT&T costume?”

“Yeah... in the trunk with our equipment. Why?”

“How about a suit?” 

“What are you planning?”

“I think we’re going to need to have a little chat with the apartment owner of room 206.”

_________________

The landlord remembered Tony, much to his relief, and was happy to speak with them despite the late hour. 

“He set the fire?! That old bat. I knew he was bad news the moment I laid eyes on him.” She huffed, picking up her old-fashioned, desk phone to call Adrian Toomes into her office. 

The story Tony fed her was simple. It had to do with the fire Ebony Maw set in Dr. Strange’s apartment. Tony claimed his alarm company saw Adrian Toomes setting the fire instead. Tony called his lawyer, which was a role being played by Bruce Banner, and his lawyer immediately rushed down here to get a statement from Toomes. 

“I thought the FBI said they caught the criminals responsible.” The landlord mumbled.

“Well they did, but Toomes was also responsible, at least according to my security tapes he was.” Tony flashed his charming smile, easing the landlords concerns instantly. 

As soon as the landlord got off the phone with Toomes, Tony made an excuse to get away for a bit.

As Tony was heading to the elevator, he saw Toomes get off as he got on. They exchanged a look for a brief two seconds, before Adrian stormed over to the front desk. 

“What the hell is this all about! I had nothing to do with that fire.”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to keep a civilized tone.”

“Oh shut up, Linda. I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. You have no idea the type of day I’ve had.” 

Thankfully the elevator doors closed so Tony did not have to listen to another word out of that man’s mouth. Bruce was the true hero tonight making the sacrifice of talking to that ass.

“Are you already upstairs?” Tony asked through the coms but no one responded. 

“Steve. Nat. Clint. Does anybody copy?” He didn’t like the silence. He didn’t like it one bit. Finally after the elevator doors opened on the correct floor, the coms made a static sound. 

“Tony, we’re in. But it’s bad. You might not want to see this.”

Just like that, the world narrowed, and Tony felt like the small hallway was closing in on him, crushing him into a little space where he was deprived of air. Trapped in a tiny cube large enough for a TV box but not large enough for a person, Tony felt crammed. His shoulders hunched so he could fit inside the small world he found himself in, and just like that, he was in the point of no return. The only sounds were his own breathing. 

He needed to get to Peter. He needed to see how bad. Blindly, Tony moved his legs, not sure of where he was going. His eyes couldn’t focus very well. But at last, he stumbled into the room. 

The first thing he saw was blood. 

Blood and Peter’s body. 

Tony’s knees sank to the floor. 

“Shit.” Steve hissed, and Tony felt a hand on his cheek. 

“Tony, wake up. It’s okay. I told you not to come in here.”

Bloody curtains... and now a bloody floor. Morgan’s body and now Peter’s. Tony felt his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

“He’s okay, Tony! Peter’s okay. He’s just hurt. He’s not -“ Steve gulped back a lump forming in his throat. “He’s okay.”

Crying. Tony heard someone crying. Was he crying? He felt like he should be. 

“I can’t move. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t move.” 

Tony’s eyes snapped open. Peter was talking.

“What hurts the most? Your legs or your stomach.” Natasha asked, propping a couch cushion under his head. 

“Everything!” Peter wailed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. But everything hurts.” 

“No, shh. You’re fine, kid. You’re alright. I’m gonna lift you onto the couch okay?”

“No wait. Nat be careful of his head.” Steve ordered. 

“I checked. It doesn’t look like he has any head injuries.”

“Go hit in the back of the head with something.” The kid mumbled. 

“Put a blanket on the couch. We’re going to have to carry him out like we would if he was on a stretcher.”

Tony began to shift in Steve’s arms. “Peter?” He crawled over to the boy’s body.

“Mr. Stark.” The kid croaked, and Tony laughed so hard tears rolled from his eyes. 

“You’re okay.” Tony whispered, wiping a tear from the corner of the kid’s eyes. “You’re okay.”

“Mhm.” Peter hummed sleepily. “Well, I’ve been better.”

“Yeah.” Tony agreed, noticing the huge welt on his cheek. 

Utter rage boiled in the pit of his stomach. He was going to kill Adrian Toomes. But Peter’s eyes closed; and that pushed away every angry thought the clouded Tony’s mind and replaced them with terror. 

“Hey, you gotta stay awake, okay?” Tony pressed a hand to his forehead. “Open your eyes, Pete. Stay with me.”

“He’s warm.” Tony said to others. 

“He needs a hospital.” Steve mumbled. 

“No. We can’t.” Clint’s voice was hushed. “Hospitals ask questions. That’s just another way we’ll end up in jail.”

“We could say we found him on the street like this.” 

“Then they’ll call child services.”

“No,” Peter cried weakly, hand gripping Tony’s shirt. “No hospital. No child services, please.”

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Tony hushed, petting back the kid’s overgrown bangs. 

“You came back for me.” Peter whispered, gripping Tony’s hand.

“Of course we did.” He smiled sadly at the boy who was now closing his eyes. “Come on, Pete. Stay awake for me.” 

“Okay, we can decide later about the hospital. Right now we need to get the hell out of here.” Natasha tossed a plastic baggy at Clint. “But first, take everything you can.”

“Wait,” Peter whispered, as Tony picked him up bridal style. “You’re gonna steal from him?”

“Yeah, he hurt you. So we’re avenging you. It’s what we do.” 

“Yeah but -“

“Don’t worry, after we leave him a little message he won’t ever mess with you again. We’ll make sure of that.” Natasha punched her fists together. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I promise we will protect you, Peter. We would have stopped him earlier but we weren’t sure if he’d call the cops or not.”

“Ow! Mr. Stark.”

“Sorry,” Tony readjusted his grip so he wasn’t putting his hand on a bruise on Peter’s thigh. 

“Start with his wallet, his car keys, then steal some of his clothing. Next we’re going to smash his TV and every electronic device he owns. Torch his clothes. Break his bed in half.”

“Hell, I say we burn his bedsheets too.” Clint mumbled. 

“Good idea. Burn bed. Then carve a message into his wall with a knife.”

“Wait guys -“

“Peter, he hurt you. I’m not sparing that jackass.”

“He has a daughter.” Peter coughed and some blood began dribbling down his chin.

“Oh God, he really does need a hospital.” Clint said, rushing to the kid’s side as Tony tried to cradle his head. It was a strain to carry the teen. He was small, but he was still heavy. 

“She helped me. He locked her in her room. Over there.” Peter pointed towards a bedroom door and the Avengers exchanged nervous glances. They were not planning on another person being in the room during all of this. “Please, she tried to help me. We can’t steal from her. It’s her house too. Not her fault her Dad is mean. Owww, please, I need to lay down.” 

Tony’s breath hitched. “I gotta get him to the car, and we’re going to the hospital. Forget about stealing. Let’s just go.”

“What about the girl! Should we leave her here?”

“Unlock the door, and let her decide what she wants to do.” 

____________________

“We’re going to the ER,” Tony tried to sound confident, and in control, as he placed Peter on the blanket on the couch. “Steve, you grab this end of the blanket, I’ll grab that end.” 

“On three,” Steve said, and they watched as Peter curled on his left side, shaking with the effort to control his emotions. “One. Two. Three.”

They lifted him off the couch with a grunt, and began carrying him towards the door. Clint opened it, watching with growing worry as they raced towards the elevator.

“Bruce, make sure their backs are turned away from the Elevator. We’re coming in hot.” Tony said through the coms. 

Carefully avoiding everyone, Tony and Steve stumbled out towards the mini-van. “I can’t reach my keys.” Steve hissed. “Here, hold the kid.”

Tony ended up cradling Peter in his arms as Steve unlocked the car. They put him in the back seat, watching as Peter curled in on himself again. There was a soft hum of the radio, and Tony was talking quietly to try and keep Peter awake. 

There was a pause before the car started. Peter wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, until he saw the rest of the Avengers pile into the car. 

“Okay go!” Natasha shouted.

The keys jingled, reminding Peter of the a belt buckle, and he whimpered from deep within his throat. It sounded so hoarse, he couldn’t believe it was his own voice.

“Shh, it’s okay, kid. It’s okay.” Tony was petting his hair. “Dammit, Steve. Move!”

“We need a plan.”

“No time. Hit the accelerator.” Tony snapped. But he knew how much Steve hated winging things. He needed structure, order, a system. Without knowing a plan, Steve felt powerless, like he was spinning out of control. It was his fear, his weakness, but Steve would have to put that behind him now.

“Listen to me, Steve. I know you’re scared. But right now, Peter needs a hospital. So if you want to be a parent, the first thing you need to understand is your kid always comes first. No matter how scared you are. Peter’s needs come first.”

“I don’t think I can do this. We’ll get caught for sure without a plan.”

“You can do this.” Natasha said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Steve. Drive the car. We’ll figure out the rest when we get there.”

He pressed the clutch, and slid his foot forward, making the car purr loudly as he zipped out of their parking spot. “Hang on.”

There wasn’t much traffic which was good because they weren’t taking it steady. Tony winced as they ran over the side of a curb, and the car bounced, making Peter stifle a cry.

“Dude!”

“I said, hold on!” Steve shouted, as he switched gears. “It’s not like I do this every freaking day.”

“That’s a red light, Steve!” Natasha squeezed her eyes shut as they zoomed right past it. 

“Are you trying to make us all need to go to the hospital!” 

“Do you want me to get him there quickly or not?!” Steve asked, flipping the radio station on in irritation. “Here, listen to this and shut up.”

A God awful song was finishing before, ironically, More Than A Feeling by Boston began playing. Peter’s eyes flickered open and there was a hint of a smile in them.

“Hey, it’s Chicago’s cousin, Boston.”

Tony grinned in spite of himself, remembering how he told Peter about sabotaging a Boston tape in order to put more Chicago songs on it. Pepper was pissed.

Tony snorted softly, “I played that sabotaged mix tape for you last night, after I ate all those gross Oreos that were dipped in Orange Crush.”

Peter attempted to return the smile, but his face tightened in pain as he fought another wave of agony. 

“We’re almost there,” Tony soothed, but the kid seemed lost in his own pain, unable to find any comfort.

They made it to the hospital, and without stopping the engine, Natasha threw open the back door, and Tony climbed out with Peter tucked in his arms. The kid’s head flopped against his shoulder, and his legs and arms dangled lazily. 

Later, Tony would be glad Peter was unconscious. If he would have been awake he would have heard Tony screaming for help in the middle of the Emergency Room and that would have been a scarring sight for the kid to witness. 

________________

As expected, the questions followed almost immediately after Peter was ripped away from Tony and thrown onto a gurney and rolled behind the metal doors that were forbidden for Tony to follow through.

What’s his name? How old is he? Where did you find him? Are you his parent? What happened? Was he allergic to anything? Was he sexually active? Was he on drugs? The barrage of questions overwhelmed Tony, and he felt dizzy for a moment. The next thing he knew some woman was asking him about insurance for the kid, and Tony had completely forgotten that this little hospital visit was going to cost him a fortune.

Steve usually handled stuff like this: fake names, fake credit cards. And for the first time in his life, Tony wished they did have a plan. He wished Steve was there to save the day. Because it was crucial he said the right thing or else Peter might get sent away into a boys home, or Tony might go to jail. He couldn’t say he found the kid because they would call social services, and he couldn’t say he was the guardian because they would find out who he was, a man with a criminal record - someone who would never be legally allowed to adopt a child, and he would be sent to jail. He had to think like Steve, and he had to do it quickly. 

“His name is Harry Osborne. At least, that’s what he told me in the car. I don’t know him. I just found him beaten like that in the street and decided to give him a lift to the hospital.”

Toby gripped the waiting room chair, the cracked edges rough under his fingertips. He wondered how many people had sat where he was, counting out the minutes in coffee cups, drumming fingers against the plastic in perpetual anxiety.

From this moment on, Tony knew his team had about three hours to get Peter out of the hospital after his surgery. Because Norman Osborne would be called, and there would be a huge situation when he saw it was Peter in the hospital and not his son. But at least social services wouldn't be called. The hospital personal will assume it really was Osborne’s son who ran away from the hospital, not Peter, so he should be safe. This could still work. 

A kind nurse came out from the back, and smiled at Tony. 

“He’s lucky you found him when you did,” she said. “Poor thing was dry heaving. We gave him shot, something to calm his stomach, and he’s resting now. We’re going to bandage the wounds the best we can and give him antibiotics to ensure there is no infection. It won’t take long. You’re welcome to stay if you would like, but we’re contacting his father so you don’t have to. Whoever beat him like that should be strung from the nearest tree if you ask me. Oh also, I’m going to ask you to give a statement to the police if that’s okay?”

Tony simply nodded because he knew he wouldn’t be in the hospital long enough to give the statement. 

“Alright hon, I have other patients I need to attend to. Make sure you grab some more coffee if you need it, the police will be here shortly.”

“Thank you.” Tony flashed his award winning grin. “If you don’t mind me asking, does he need anything else... for the pain?”

“Oh. Well we’re going to prescribe an antiseptic cream with a painkiller mixed in, and we’ll encourage him to apply it to his wounds twice a day for a full recovery. But other than that, no. His ribs were cracked, but we can’t do anything about that other than bandage him. That will keep him off his feet for a while though. Broken ribs are a nasty business. They hurt worse than you can imagine.”

Tony knew from experience how sucky broken ribs were. 

“Are you going to give the medicine to the boy or his father? I think maybe you should give it to the kid. Show him how to put it on and stuff.”

The nurse’s expression grew hooded. “I’ve got it from here, sir.”

“Yes of course. Thank you for all your kindness.”

“It comes with the job,” she smiled warmly, then maneuvered over to another couple sitting behind Tony. He could see the worry on their faces. 

A buzzing sound filled his ear before Steve began speaking crisply. “Alright. Here’s the plan.” 

_________________

Twenty minutes later and a loud discussion was taking place behind in the patient ward.

“Where is he? Where is my son?” Norman Osborne screamed.

“This way, sir.” A doctor exclaimed, steering him through a corridor leading to the emergency room ward with six beds. The fifth bed had a white privacy curtain drawn around it. 

“We’ve got him on I.V. antibiotics and he’s doing very well. You’re lucky your son is such a fighter, Mr. Osborne. I will need you to make a statement to the police after this, you understand don’t you?” The doctor in baby blue scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck peered questioningly at him.

“Yes of course. Just show me my kid.” 

“Don’t be surprised if he’s sleeping,” the doctor whispered as she gently pulled the curtain away. The sight that awaited them was certainly unexpected. The doctor’s jaw went slack when she saw the bed was empty.

“Well? Where is he?” Osborne tapped his foot impatiently. 

“I... I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!” He shouted. “How the hell don’t you know? What kind of a hospital is this? I should sue every single one of you.”

“Mr. Osborne, please, if you would just calm down. I’m sure we can figure this out.”

But Norman Osborne was storming out of the hospital room, fingers dialing the numbers on his cell fast and hard. 

“Ebony, we have a huge problem! Locate my son, now.”

“I already have, Boss. He was with the Avengers last night. It seems he left with one of their drivers and is now staying at a federal agents house.”

“He’s living with the fucking feds!? That little brat really knows how to get under my skin. So, he wasn’t at the hospital just now?”

“No sir. I’ve been watching him all day.”

Norman finally stopped to breathe, something wicked forming in his mind. “Excellent job. But I think your services will be needed elsewhere from now on, Ebony. I have a new plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the support this story has received! :) I love chatting with you, so if you want to chat, feel free to leave a comment!


	13. Step 13: Watch Your Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Tis a fearful thing   
> to love what death can touch.  
> A fearful thing   
> to love, to hope, to dream, to be -  
> to be  
> And oh to lose.  
> A thing for fools, this,  
> And a holy thing,  
> a holy thing   
> to love.  
> For your life has lived in me  
> your laugh once filled me  
> your word was a gift to me  
> To remember this brings painful joy  
> ‘Tis a human thing to love,  
> a holy thing to love  
> what death has touched.   
>  \- Yehuda Halevi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Huge apologies in advance but I did not proof read this, so the errors might be more than usual. I hope you enjoy anyways! :)

There was a memory that Tony kept safely buried in the depths of his brain, wrapped in the swaddling of his childhood, before everything went bad. The softest, purest, memory, not by any means to be tainted by the impurities that surround his life today. 

But still, sometimes, after a long day of being chased, yelled at, tortured, or scared shitless, Tony would carefully unwrap it, in the depths of the night when he was completely sure he was alone, and he would remember. 

He would remember his mother. 

Her hair, her eyes, her smile. He remembered being held, comforted, cuddled into her side. He remembered being an innocent child, not understanding anything about it the world, but knowing with all certainty that his mother could take away any pain that came his way. This memory was the only thing that kept him going sometimes. 

As he sat by Peter’s bedside, surrounded by the rest of his friends who were equally as worried, Tony needed that memory to resurface. 

Remembering what his mother used to do for him, Tony tried his best to re-enact it for the kid who was laying flat on his stomach, with his skin so pale it was unnerving. He was almost as white as the bedsheets under him, except for his flush cheeks which were tinged bright red due to a fever that he developed. 

“I thought you said they gave him antibiotics. Why the hell does he have a fever?” Natasha’s anger was coming from a place of worry. That’s how she reacted when something was weighing on her mind. She lashed out. Not as badly as Bruce of course, but Bruce didn’t let many things anger him. He had specific triggers and as long as they stayed away from them, Bruce was extremely calm and sensible in situations like this one. He patted her back soothingly, and pulled her to his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because we ripped him away from the hospital before he was released.” Clint huffed, but there was no heat behind his words. He knew why they had to take Peter from the hospital. 

“Guys.” Steve snapped before turning his attention back to Peter who was fluttering his eyelids open. He looked up at Tony then Steve, confused at first.

“Hey kid. How are you feeling?” 

Peter tried to push himself up, but pain crossed his features and he immediately dropped his stomach back down. “Fine. Kinda hot.”

“You have a slight fever. Here. I’m gonna remove your shirt and then we’ll give you some water.”

Peter nodded his head, his throat too dry to form words. Tony gently removed Peter’s shirt, the way his mother used to when he was sick, and Steve went to fetch the bottle of water from downstairs. Once the shirt was gone, Peter’s back was exposed, and it looked like a slice of raw meat. 

Tony didn’t know what Peter did all these years to earn such a shredded and scarred back. He was a good kid. He didn’t deserve the shitty hand of cards life had dealt him.

Steve returned with a bucket of water, gauze and some clean rags. Most of the rags they owned were used on the cars, and filthy, but Steve managed to find the good ones. 

Tony rested his hand on the nape of Peter’s neck, while the rest of the Avengers began changing his bandages. The bucket of water was stained bright red by the time they were done. Peter’s eyes were closed, but his breathing hitched every so often. Tony’s gut clenched, and he squeezed Peter’s hand. 

_Just focus on the job, Stark. Help him heal._

Steve looked terrible, dark circles under his eyes as he no doubt felt guilt for not saving Peter earlier than they did. That’s the downfall of being a captain. You are responsible for your team, and if any of them get hurt, you blame yourself.

Tony understood this, because being a captain was like being a parent. It was the same thing. Guilt and blame, it comes with the job.

Natasha tried not to look worried as she patched the kid up, in an attempt to protect Peter from worrying himself. 

And Tony, for his part, wondered how much longer he could play this game, before breaking down completely. How many more people had to get hurt before Tony learned that he couldn’t protect them? Hasn’t he suffered enough? Why did the world insist on teaching him this lesson again and again? Wasn’t losing one child enough? 

Tony agonized the scene over and over again trying to figure out if there was another way, a better way. If he had just gone to the apartment a second earlier. He clenched his fists with these thoughts. 

A small whimper pulled him back to the moment and he was quick to dab the rag on Peter’s sweaty forehead. “Are you okay?”

Peter’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked up at Tony. He seemed angry or upset.

“What is it?” 

Peter looked down at his hands while Tony brushed his hair back. “It feels weird.”

“What does?” Tony halted his movements, worried that he was somehow hurting the kid. “Does your head hurt?”

“No, I feel fine. I think my fever broke which is why I’m so sweaty, but this is weird.” Peter gestured to the entire room.

“Oh yeah, well, see, we had to get you away from the hospital because we didn’t want child services -“

“No, not that, I mean, this! You.... everyone... I’m not used to anyone caring about me like this. It feels strange.”

Each word was a punch in the gut. Tony felt so badly for this kid, he couldn’t fathom what the boy must be feeling. “Peter, there are a lot of people that care about you.”

“Now, yeah, sure,” Peter whispered. “But I never really had that before... not really.”

The kid was killing him. It was bad enough Tony had to see him hurt. He had to see his failure at protecting the people he loves happen all over again, but with Peter talking about how he never got enough love, it was too much. 

He wanted to do something to prove to Peter that they all cared about him. That he was finally safe, but how could he show that, when in all reality Peter would never be completely safe? Not even the most highly-trained thieves could protect him from everything.

“I’m sorry,” Peter looked ashamed as he gripped Tony’s hand. 

“Kid, you have nothing to be sorry for. Stop saying that shit right now.”

“I was weak. I didn’t do what you taught me.” He looked towards Natasha, his eyes burning with the glow of the lamp. “You taught me better, and I couldn’t do it.”

It’s what Tony had been trying to tell him all along. The kid had skills, but it was just too soon for him to be in the field. Training takes time and effort. It’s like anything else in life. You have to learn it, then practice, and then study some more and re-practice. Peter was just starting. He shouldn’t expect himself to be perfect. Besides, he wasn’t actually ‘in-the-field,’ he was at ‘home.’

“Peter listen to me,” Natasha crouched down next to him on the bed. “You didn’t let any of us down. You are an amazing fighter, with incredible skills. But no one wins every fight. Besides, you were caught off guard with your foster father. It was an unfair situation.”

“I almost cried... I shouldn’t have done that.”

Tony’s fingers tightened around the bottle of water in his hand.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do it. I can’t be like you.”

The chair screeched against the floor as Tony pushed away from the table. “Excuse me.” He mumbled escaping downstairs into the back of the garage where he could drown himself in a bottle of vodka. 

But when he got to the 1950s Ford, he didn’t feel like drinking. Instead, he tore the car door open and slid inside like a child escaping the basement after the lights went out. He was breathing hard, which surprised him, because that the fuck did he have to be upset about? He wasn’t the one injured. He was the one who failed _twice_ at being a parent.

And this is what he gets for loving someone. 

This is the price he has to pay for loving something death can touch. His whole body shook, and he felt like puking. He was so fucking stupid for opening his heart to someone that could easily be snatched away from him. Balling his hands into fists, Tony screamed through his teeth, enraged at himself, and slammed his fists into the dashboard repeatedly. He shrieked ferociously, pummeling the interior of the car. Letting all his rage, hopelessness, and confusion out in a series of non-stop screams. Tony couldn’t even recognize his voice, the noises coming from deep in his throat. 

The pain in his hands from beating them against the dash felt good, a welcoming distraction from the torment in his heart, but Tony forced himself to stop that. Using pain as a medication could lead down a very dark and deadly path. 

Not that Tony cared much. He deserved death more than Peter, more than Morgan more than Pepper. It should have been him a long time ago. _Dammit_. It should have been him. 

Tony gave the dash another punch, before dropping his head into his hands and breathing out. He needed to cry, but he hadn’t cried in what felt like forever. He was supposed to be the strong one dammit. He was the adult. How in the fuck could he let this happen? 

The worst part was, now that Tony opened his heart and let the kid in, he couldn’t abruptly stop. He was attached, plain and simple. He did love Peter. And even if loving Peter meant risking the thought of someday losing him in the worst way possible, Tony would have to accept it. Because for the time they did have together, every memory they create together will be worth it. And Tony was going to make damn sure Peter had a good time while he was still here. So maybe Tony can’t stop death. Maybe he can’t protect the people he loves from getting hurt. But he can make sure they have the best life possible.

Whatever the kid wanted to do from here on out, Tony was going to support him. He wasn’t sure how long he sat in that car just staring at the garage door, but Tony knew it was a long time by the way the sun was setting outside the small windows. 

Tony rejoined the group two hours later, smiling at them and sitting by Peter’s side. The kid was upright now, eating a bowl of cereal. Tony was tempted to hand him that container of Oreos so he could dip it in the milk and try it the _normal_ way. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Steve asked, but his voice was gentle, worried.

“I needed some space. How’s this one doing?”

Peter grinned, a milk mustache on his upper lip. “I feel great!”

“We gave him one of those pain-killers in his cereal.” Steve whispered in his ear. 

“I see. So he’s a little...” High, Tony wanted to say, but he never finished his sentence. The kid didn’t need to know they drugged him. 

“Yeah, and he’s pretty hilarious too. But it’s probably wrong to get amusement out this though.” Steve finished with a cough, trying not to to laugh as Peter gasped when he touched Bruce’s arm and felt a tiny shock. 

“Did we just get struck by lightening?”

Tony chuckled lightly, and Steve turned to him. “Hey, I have something to show you.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, and handed it to him. “I swiped this before we left that bastards apartment.”

It was a check. A check from DCFS. A smirk crossed his features.

“I think we earned this cash more than that asshole, Adrian Toomes. And since he apparently only cared about Peter for this little check here, I thought it was an appropriate way to avenge the kid.”

Tony clasped Steve’s shoulder in a proud manner, and grinned like a hyena. They could use that money for Peter the way it was meant to be used.

“I’ll make a fake ID tonight, and we’ll cash this baby soon.” 

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” Steve mumbled, Tony gave him his full attention. “So I called Dr. Strange.”

“Did you tell him we robbed him?”

“Tony, please don’t interrupt me.” Steve said, always a stickler for maintaining polite manners. 

“Sorry, continue.”

“So I contacted Dr. Strange to see if he could help heal the kid. Or, you know, if he at least had any medial advice on how to help Peter, and he said -“

“He asked who the hell Peter was, right?”

Steve glared at his interruption again. “Yes, he asked that. But more importantly he told me Ebony Maw was in touch with him.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrowed together. What would Maw want with Dr. Strange? He already got his revenge. Unless, maybe he was still trying to kill him. 

“He knows where Ebony is going to be two weeks from now. We could call the FBI and officially stop this bastard once and for all.” 

“Let’s do it.” 

___________________

Two weeks flew by, especially since Tony was having so much fun playing Chinese Checkers with Peter and watching late night TV until the kid could fall asleep. It was their new nightly routine. They both enjoyed spending time with one-another, and they both could sleep much better with the other not too far away. 

When Peter would wake up in a panicked frenzy, all it took was one look at Tony’s hunched over, sleeping form, for him to settle down and go back to sleep. 

His ribs were healing, but they still hurt. Unfortunately, Peter was bed-ridden for the next few days still. But he seemed alright with being waited on. Tony was happy to do it. Peter had to grow up so fast in his life, he needed to be babied sometimes.

So if that meant cutting up his food, doing his laundry, and hugging him every few hours, then so be it. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, pulling his nose away from his paperwork.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh just looking over some of Steve’s plans for our next mission.”

Tony noticed how quickly a frown formed on the kid’s face.

“What?” He asked, standing up from the desk and making his way over to the bed so he could sit next to the boy. 

“You’re going to miss Family Feud.” Peter whined. 

“Oh Pete, they aren’t exactly new episodes,” Tony joked, but this was no laughing matter to Peter. 

“I’m serious! You can’t miss our favorite game show. We watch it every night.”

They both knew this wasn’t about a game show, but it was about Tony leaving.

“I won’t be gone long. I promise. Bruce is going to stay here with you, okay? You’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about me.” Her huffed, crossing his arms. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ve done this before, you know.”

Peter sucked in a breath. “Remember how upset you were when I wanted to join this team?”

Tony winced. He remembered alright, but he didn’t like to.

“I think I get it now.” Peter mumbled. “You weren’t upset because I was joining the team. You were upset because you didn’t want me to get hurt, cause this job is dangerous and I was unskilled.”

“Kid -“

“No. I obviously am under-skilled, Mr. Stark. I let myself get my ass handed to me.”

“You were caught off guard.”

“Not really.” Peter mumbled sadly. “I knew he was going to beat me, and I tried to do what I was taught. But at the end of the day, I failed. I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”

Tony hated to hear Peter say those words. He didn’t want the kid to self-doubt himself now. Not after he was so determined to stay with the Avengers and choose this life. 

“True. You were lacking some skills. Maybe you forgot, maybe you froze. Either way, you weren’t ready. And yes, I didn’t want you to join this life because I knew something like that might happen. **_But_** , you’re the one that told me this life makes you feel like you can help people. It makes you happy, yes?”

Peter nodded slowly. 

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“But, I’m not good -“

“Then you’ll get good. I promise. We just need to train you more. Luckily for you, I’m a pretty amazing teacher when I’m not being an asshole.”

Peter pushed himself a little further under the covers. “I don’t know, Mr. Stark. I’m a little afraid of training with you. No offense.”

“None taken. I deserve that. But if you give me a chance I would love to prove to you that you are talented, and you do have skills. I’ve already assessed your strengths and weaknesses since our last session, so I know how to properly train you.”

Peter grinned. “Okay. But that means you have to be safe on this mission, got it?” 

“I will be,” Tony laughed, ruffling Peter’s hair. “I’ll be home in a day or two.”

“Please don’t go. Why can’t you be the one to stay with me, and Bruce can go on the mission.”

“Because Bruce is still recovering from a stab wound, and I’m the guy that’s willing to throw himself in dangerous situations.”

“Well don’t, dammit!” Peter yelled, and Tony’s eyebrows knitted together. “Sorry, but you can’t risk your life the way you used to, okay? I need you to be alive.”

And holy shit. Peter was experiencing it too. The fear of loving something that could die. 

“I’m not going to die, kid.”m

“You can’t promise that,” Peter whimpered, his eyes filling with tears.

“Hey,”

“Just go,” Peter wiped his eyes quickly. “I’m not crying, it’s just my back is sore and no one gave me any medicine this morning.”

“We’re trying to ween you off of that.” Tony said placing a kiss on top of the kid’s head.

“I don’t know how to soothe your worries when they are justified. It’s a wise thing to worry about losing the people you love. But just know that if I don’t come back, I love you kid, and I want you to be happy.”

“Dammit, don’t go. Please, don’t go.”

“I’ll tell Bruce to bring you that medicine.”

“At least let me come with you.” Peter threw the blankets off of himself. 

“No. Get back in bed.” Tony ordered firmly, and to his surprise, Peter listened. 

“I’ll come back and say goodbye before I leave.” Tony began to close the room door but halted when Peter told him to wait. 

He paused in the doorframe and watched as the kid played with his fingers. 

“I love you too.” He whispered. 

__________________

Steve clambered up into the four-by-four’s driver’s seat, a position he had spent many years in, especially in this particular truck. He loved the red-and-blue color scheme much to Tony’s dismay. 

Pulling the heavy door shut, Tony briefly enjoyed the hearty slam the door made. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asked.

“I think I might have made the kid cry.”

“He’s worried about us.”

“It sucks. I’m supposed to be the one that’s worried.” 

The starter motor whined as the keys struggled to bring the ancient motor to life. It most likely would be a two-day-mission with the drive and the plan, but Tony was hoping they could get it cut down into half.

The motor sprang to life, and purred like a kitten. “Ready?” Steve asked looking through the rear-view mirror at the rest of his teammates.

They gave him the go-ahead signal, so Steve took off, leaving the garage in wave of dust. 

The warm weather made everything hot in the car; stifling, really. Every window was open, but with no breeze outside, everything just felt muggy. The car’s A/C sucked so the avengers were practically baking to death within ten minutes. 

Dusk was approaching when Steve noticed a pair of rapidly approaching headlights.

“What the hell?” He muttered to himself as he eyed the car through his rear view mirror. 

Out of nowhere another black SUV skidded around them, and Steve knew instantly something was happening.

“Hang on!” He shouted, as he yanked the steering wheel to the right, and their vehicle tore around the corner. A few cars, unlucky enough to be on the road, filled the air with blaring horns. 

“What was that?” Natasha shouted, spinning around in her seat.

“We’re being followed.”

“By who?!” 

“How should I know?”

Clint whipped out his cell-phone. “I’m calling Fury, maybe he knows.”

CRACK. The back window shattered into pieces and they screamed out in terror, ducking their heads. 

“What the fuck is going on?!”

Steve’s fingers wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly he was sure they were never coming off. He swerved in and out of cars on the road, driving in the wrong lane quite often as he tried to avoid the dangerous SUV that was not spraying bullets at them. 

Steve’s blue eyes peered into the backseat and he gasped at the sudden revelation that Tony was not wearing his seatbelt.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“Steve, we’re being chased by a bunch of pissed off men with high-powered guns that seem to have every intent to kill us and you’re worried about me wearing a seatbelt.”

“Yes! Put it on!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Another spray of bullets rattled the car, and Steve did his best to drive while barely peaking above the steering wheel. 

“Watch out!” Natasha screamed and Steve noticed the other pair of headlights in front of them, just in time to swerve away. 

“Oh my God. Pull over!” 

“I’m trying.” Steve screamed, catching a glimpse of a large lake on his left that sat just beyond a barrier, and below a cliff. 

“Steve!” Natasha’s eyes were wide as the SUV came out from the trees, obscuring some hidden road, before leaping back into it’s place behind them. Another shot rang out, and this time on of their tires blew out. The car went flying in a tail spin. Tony held on for dead life as the car spun out of control. 

It didn’t flip over, thankfully, and the avengers managed to jump out of the car. Unfortunately, the members of the SUV also jumped out of their vehicle and they had guns.

“Hello Avengers. I told you it wasn’t over.” Ebony Maw stepped in front of his men. “So what’s it going to be? Are you going to come with us the easy way? Or the hard way?” 

Tony followed Steve’s gaze to the lake. If they jumped off the cliff, they might survive by landing in the lake. 

“I wouldn’t do that.” Curse Ebony and his mind-reading-abilities. “You’ll never survive the fall.”

“I think we’ll take our chances.” Tony snipped.

“Foolish idiots. I guess you have chosen the hard way.” He nudged his head towards his men and the next thing Tony knew, he was being shot in the neck with a painful little dart. 

The world got very blurry, and Tony soon found himself lying on the side of the road, unconscious and at the mercy of the Black Order. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can they just be happy? Jeez. I understand if you might be losing faith in a happy ending, but I assure you it’s still possible.


	14. Step 14: D̶o̶n̶'t̶ be a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And into the 
> 
> forest I go,
> 
> to lose my mind
> 
> and find my soul.
> 
> \- John Mulr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much it! All answers are revealed in this chapter, and things are coming to a close. Thank you so much for sticking around and reading/ leaving comments/ Kudos/ etc. I really appreciate it because writing stories takes ALOT of time. Plus, sometimes I get writers block, and sometimes I realize I am not very good at writing action scenes. 😂 But in the end, I am really proud of this story, and I have tons of fun writing it, so I hope you all enjoyed it too. 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy this chapter!

Tony blinked his heavy eyelids. He became aware he was returning to consciousness at the same time he realized his arms and legs were cuffed to the wall behind him. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, as he turned his head to take in his surroundings. He was in a small room that looked like something out of a medieval castle; cold grey blocks of stone, and a door made of thick iron. _Awesome_. His arms were uncomfortably hanging above his head, but at least his captors were letting him sit on the floor. He could have been forced to stand or cruelly suspended in the air. 

A sound of movement and rattling caught his attention. Tony cocked his head to the side to see Steve’s arms dangling from the wall as well. He had his eyes closed, and his head was drooping. 

“Cap, are you okay?” Tony whispered harshly, but Steve didn’t move. 

“Tony,” a woman’s voice groaned. Tony cranked his head. 

“Nat, is that you?” 

“Yeah,” she shook the chains and cursed under her breath. “Fuck.” 

Tony snorted a laugh. “That’s what I said.”

He briefly wondered if it was considered morbid or disturbing that being kidnapped was such a familiar concept to him that he didn’t even feel scared anymore. In fact, it was almost laughable when it happened. 

“I guess The Black Order finally caught us,” she murmured, mainly to herself. It was unbelievable that after all this time, The Black Order chose now of all times to start attacking them. “But why do you think they came after us? It’s not usually their M.O. to chase us.”

“I can answer that.” Tony’s head snapped towards the voice. A man in a black suit, Norman Osborne to be more specific, appeared from behind the shadows, with glasses hanging from his nose, revealing his ice cold eyes. 

Tony should have known he was behind this. After all, Osborne was the leader of the Black Order, and Tony messed with him not once, but twice. Once by stealing the Bioweapon, and the other by freeing Harry. At least it made sense why the Black Order would want them dead. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Stark,” he said with a sick smile on his face. “Last time I checked, I left you under the orders of Ebony Maw, and you committed a mutiny while I was away.” Osborne clicked his tongue together, tisking as he walked in front of Tony’s sitting body. “That was very unbecoming, don’t you think? Definitely not very loyal like the dog you were trained to be.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m no idiot. I knew you’d come after us just like you did with my partner, and just like you did with Stephen Strange. I knew it wasn’t long before my name got added to your death list. So yeah, I left your damn killer squad. Sorry if I wasn’t interesting in taking lives.”

“Yes but I thought I trained you better, and a trained dog never defies the orders of it’s master.”

“Then I guess I’m a stray.” Tony said smugly. 

“Then maybe I will have to put you down.”Osborne threatened devilishly. “You test my patience Stark, but in all honestly, this isn’t about you. This is about your foolish little team you call - what is it? The Revengers?”

“So that’s it then? You’re finally getting payback for when we left the Black Order? What took you so long? You had plenty of time to do it. Why now?”

“Stark, Stark, Stark. Always expecting the worst in people.” Osborne teased. “I didn’t capture you for revenge, fool. Revenge is your thing. No, see, I captured you because you’re in my fucking way!” He shouted violently. The mood swings reminded him of Bruce. God if Bruce was here right now he would be so angry he could probably pull the chain right off the wall and strangle Osborne with it.

“I didn’t give a shit when you were fighting my men. I thought it was good for them. It gave them some competition, something to grow stronger by. But then you kept winning, and my men kept getting arrested, and slowly you’ve destroyed my team. But not only did you ruin that, but then you had to go and ruin that kid.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. He had no idea hearing Osborne talk about Peter would make him break into a cold sweat the way it did. He felt panic rise in his chest for the first time since he was kidnapped.

“Peter was going to bring me the Bioweapon. He was going to take his first big step at becoming my apprentice, but then _you_ showed up. And fine. I had a backup plan. That’s why I sent the other members of the Black Order to the aquatic facility. They were supposed to collect the Bioweapon should the boy prove to be too weak. My plan was foolproof until you stopped all of my men, and somehow corrupted my kid.”

“Peter is NOT your kid,” Tony barked before he could stop himself. Dammit. He was showing signs of weakness. That was careless. He was showing Osborne his sensitive spot. 

“No, you’re right. He’s not my kid.” Osborne agreed, thankfully showing no signs of using Tony’s weakness against him, “My kid is a disgrace to the Osborne name. Ungrateful little brat. He grew up in a house of luxury and when it came time for him to accept his responsibilities, you know what he said? Screw you, Dad. Kids are so ridiculously overrated. There’s no point in having them when all they do is disobey. I couldn’t care less that you took Harry. But taking Peter really pissed me off.”

While Osborne was taking his sweet time with this long ass explanation, Tony was working on step one of the Avengers game plan: surveying his surroundings. There was an iron door and two guards in the room. He couldn’t go that way if he wanted to. But there was another way. Above Steve’s head was an air duct. Tony was never the one to crawl through them, but if he needed to, he would.

“Peter was the perfect child. So obedient. So willing to follow orders. All he wanted was a place to stay. I was willing to give him that, and he was willing to steal for me. It was the perfect arrangement, but then you stopped him from bringing me my bioweapon and you brainwashed him into going after members of _my_ Black Order.”

“But he came back to you,” Tony said, trying to keep the conversation going so he could figure out an escape route. 

“Sure. He came back to me with the Bioweapon as a peace offering, and I thought I could give him a second chance. But I knew I had to test him to see how badly you brainwashed him. So I told him to steal something else for me.”

“Power tools.”

“That’s right. The next thing I know, my precious Bioweapon is once again gone, and so is my pathetic excuse for a son. I haven’t heard from Peter since. So that tells me two things. Number one, his allegiance lies with you, and number two, I have to kill him the same way I killed his parents.”

Tony felt like a cold wind swept right through him and he froze, staring at Osborne with unblinking eyes. Peter’s parents? Tony couldn’t believe this whole time he never thought to ask how Osborne knew about Peter. He just assumed he knew him through his son. But what if there was more? 

“I take it from this emotionless response that you’re having a difficult time processing this.” Norman said with a smart-ass delight that only a sadist could have. “You really didn’t know, did you? Really, Tony, after all this time, you never thought to ask what the boy’s last name was?”

Osborne’s voice was echoing in his ear but it was muffled by the roaring sound of Tony’s heartbeat thumping in his chest like a brick dropping on concrete. 

It can’t be...

He knew Peter looked familiar, but now he finally knew why, or rather, _who he looked like._ His old work partner. The man who wanted to leave the Black Order so he could start a family with his wife and new-born baby. 

“It can’t be... he’s Richard’s son?!”

“Yes.”

Peter _Parker_. How the hell did Tony never ask for the kid’s last name? It just never came up. It didn’t seem important.

“I should have killed him when he was an infant. It would have saved me the trouble of having to do it now. But I was younger back then, and I’m ashamed to admit, but I was weak. He was just a baby, and my own son had just been born. That was back when I believed children would grow to be appreciative obedient creatures. If I had known what I know now, I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him. Still. I believed Peter would grow up to join the Black Order. So I kept tabs on him, and I made sure he met my son. I planned everything perfectly, but what I didn’t count on was you and your irritating vendetta against me. So really, it’s all your fault that the boy has to die, Stark.”

Tony yanked the chains hard, scowling viciously at the man in front of him. “Don’t you _dare_ lay a hand on him. I swear to God, Osborne. I will kill you.”

“Sorry Stark, but I’m afraid the only person that will be dying tonight is Peter. But don’t worry. I won’t make you watch. You can spend the rest of your days here, in my prison, pretending Peter is alive if you want. Denial has always suited you.” 

Tony’s head felt like it was going to explode he was clenching his blood vessels so tightly, the veins in his temples were poking out and he was sure his face was beet red with rage. 

“I’ll make it quick. He won’t suffer.”

“DON’T.” Tony screamed as Osborne turned his back on him. He pounded his foot against the ground. “Get back here you asshole! This isn’t over!”

“Oh but it is.” 

Tony was desperate now. Norman Osborne was two steps out the iron door, and Tony couldn’t think straight. All he knew was his kid’s life was being threatened, and every nerve in his body was shaking like he was drenched in ice. 

“You still need him!” Tony tried, but Osborne had closed the iron door. Withering, Tony frantically tried to get his arms free from the chains, but it was no luck. They were bond too tightly. 

He was alone, with his team, trapped, while a madman was going to kill his kid. He tugged and tugged at the damn restraints. 

“Tony!” Steve scolded, startling him. “You can get out of here, you just need to think.”

“How?! Do you have any ideas? I’m open to suggestions.” 

“How long have you known me? Come on. I always have a plan.” 

“I’m all ears.” Tony said, a spark of hope igniting within him. Thank God for level-headed Steve Rogers. 

“Once we break free from the chains, we use it to sneak up on the guards, choke them and then climb out the air duct.”

“Great. Only one problem. How do we get these chains off.”

“There’s only one way... and it’s going to hurt like hell.”

“I was afraid you were going to say something like that.” Tony muttered. But he knew Steve was right. It was so annoying how he was always right. 

Clenching his fists, Tony thought of nothing except the mortal danger Peter was in and he yanked his wrist through the cuffs the best he could. Rather than trying to rip the chain off the wall, he was trying to rip his wrist from the metal bracelet. He would have more luck breaking the bones in his hand than the thick chain from the wall. He twisted, pressed a foot against the wall, and pull backwards with all his strength.

Grunting, Tony began to feel his wrist move, and with that movement came pain. He pushed through, wincing more and more as pain tore across his skin as he rubbed it raw. 

“Ah,” He clenched down on his scream, keeping his jaw tight while he slipped the metal over his thumb, trying to squeeze the thumb through. “Gah. This does hurt like hell.” Tony stoped his efforts, and panted for a minute. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can, come on, Tony.” 

Gritting his teeth, Tony began pushing his hand through the metal, feeling his thumb crunch from the weight. Quickly, he bit the top of his t-shirt to keep from screaming in pain. At last, his wrist was free. Extremely bloody, but free. 

“I can’t get mine.” Steve hissed, resting his sweaty forehead against the wall. “I’m sorry Tony, but you don’t have time to wait for us. Go!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Acting off of pure adrenaline, Tony jumped the two guards with ease and took their weapons. 

“I’ll be back soon!” He called as he raced over to the air duct. He used Steve’s shoulders to reach the top. 

“Tony,” Steve called out once he was in the vents. “Be careful.” 

__________________

Getting to the garage was the difficult part. Tony had to hijack a car, and find out where he was so he could find out how to get back to the garage. Every second he wasted was a second closer to Osborne murdering Peter. 

So he pressed the pedal to the floor, zooming faster than any car should on an open road. When he reached the garage, he grabbed the door handle and shoved out with intensity. Tony knew he was going in unprepared, and emotional but there was a fire burning inside him. It wasn’t a good combo. 

As he approached the door, he could see through the windows that the entire garage was dark. Osborne must have cut the power. 

Carefully, he twisted the knob to the side-door and pushed it open an inch. He creeped quietly inward, then paused, watching and waiting to see if anyone was in the garage. At first, he saw nothing, but then the corner of his eye spotted a shoe. On the floor, Bruce was laying unconscious. 

Rushing over to his friend, Tony knelt to Bruce’s side and felt for a pulse. It was there. Bruce was okay. He probably had a hell of a headache and maybe a concussion but he was okay.

“Bruce? Wake up, man.” He whispered, gently slapping Bruce’s face. “Come on. This is no time to sleep. Tell me where Osborne is.”

This was bad. If Bruce was hurt, that meant Osborne was in the garage. It means he already got to Bruce, which meant Peter was in serious danger. 

Tony went stiff when he heard a floorboard creak from directly upstairs. He was on his feet in seconds, weapon drawn. Tony turned to Bruce and said barely above a whisper, “I’ll be right back.” He wasn’t sure if Bruce could hear him, but just in case, he wanted to keep him informed. 

Tony ascended the staircase, with quick silent strides, but the stairs were so old, they gave him away by squeaking. 

His gun was raised, fingers pinched around the trigger, itching to snap. As he walked with each step, each breath, his body was feeding him adrenaline. 

He saw out of the corner of his eyes something scurry across the ground below him. But his ears caught sound of footsteps in the upstairs room. 

So that meant one thing. Norman Osborne was searching for Peter and hadn’t yet found him. The boy was either upstairs, or downstairs, and Tony was suck on the damn steps in between, unsure of which way to turn. He had even more fear now that he knew Peter was moving about because he didn’t want to accidentally shoot the boy, but he also knew that a moment’s hesitation could get him killed. It was a nightmare. 

He walked back downstairs, creeping along the wall. Whenever weapons were involved, the wall was your best friend. Dammit, Tony should have told Peter that information the day they were training together. 

The kid was so injured these last few weeks, Tony hadn’t had the chance to continue his training. If Peter got shot during this, Tony was going to lose his mind. 

“Peter,” Osborne’s voice called out. “I know you’re in here. Why don’t you come on out, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk about the Bioweapon.”

Tony resisted the urge to make any noise. He wanted to shout that Fury had the Bioweapon and it was long gone. He wanted to warn the kid that Osborne was, in fact, _lying_ , and was without a doubt going to hurt him. But he didn’t make any noise at all, because any sound could cause Osborne to fire his weapon. 

“Come on, Peter. I’m tired of playing these games with you.”

Tony got a visual on Osborne from the reflection of the 1950’s Ford’s mirror. He was in Steve’s office area near the stairs, meanwhile Tony was just around the corner, in the dinning room area. So Peter must have been upstairs. 

The stairs creaked. 

This was it. He needed to confront the man now or he might be too late. He didn’t care about his own safety, just the safety of his kid. 

“Osborne,” Tony said as he stepped in front of him, just below the staircase. “Put the gun down.”

The criminal cackled; he’d done it multiple times before, and each time it made Tony’s rage spike. 

“Put the gun down, you say? Now that’s hilarious. Tell me, Stark. Why on earth would I do that?”

“Oh I don’t know. I thought you might like living. But the choice is yours.”

“Cocky, arrogant, son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Osborne teased. He never took anything seriously. “Well I can tell you this. I’m Impressed you escaped, but your luck ends here.”

He aimed his gun right at Tony’s chest. “Bye Stark.”

Tony reacted a split second before the trigger was pulled, and ducked to the floor. The sound of a bullet was like fireworks going off in the garage. It disturbed the silence worse than a jackhammer would have, and left a ringing in their ears. 

Tony lashed out with his feet, knocking Osborne slightly off balance. But only slightly. The madman managed to keep his feet planted. Before he could fire another round, Tony snatched his wrist, and during that distraction, he removed the gun from Osborne’s hand. 

But he didn’t pull the trigger. He had a split second, a very crucial moment where he had the opportunity to shoot Osborne and he hesitated. The results were catastrophic.

Osborne’s fist flew forward, slamming Tony’s left cheek and the gun went flying across the room. 

Now it was hand-to-hand combat, which wasn’t much safer. They were tumbling into everything: the kitchen table, the wall, the floor. 

Osborne’s style was fully offensive. He didn’t give much care to defending himself, but Tony’s style was equally similar. He favored overpowering his opponents more than anything else, but this fight was practically a stalemate. 

Tony grit his teeth, struggling to keep himself upright as he took another blow the the jaw. He had delivered as many blows as he had taken, but it was weakening him. 

When Osborne moved closer to Tony’s side, he whipped out a blade from his jacket pocket, and held it in front of him.

“Gotta cheat to win, huh?” Tony whispered, pausing all movement.

“Sorry Stark. But now it’s officially over.” He raised the knife above his shoulder, and Tony knew he still had time to dodge it, but something else happened instead.

Peter dropped from the upper floor and landed directly on Osborne, knocking him to the ground and the blade went flying out of his hand. Tony ran for the gun while Peter was struggling to keep Osborne down. 

“You stay away from him.” Peter shouted.

Osborne gasped and choked before snatching Peter by the neck and flinging him off like he was an insect. Peter rolled to the ground, and laid still meanwhile, Osborne staggered to his feet. 

Without warning, Osborne stumbled over to Peter and seized him from behind, wrapping an around him and lifting him into the air. Tony had seen this a million times before; this was how a neck got snapped. 

He took the safety off the gun, and raised it at Osborne’s head. “Let him go.”

It was Osborne’s turn to halt all movement. The kid was gasping and struggling in his hold, but he seemed brave, determined that he was going to be okay. 

“I said let him go!” Tony screamed, voice so deep hell itself couldn’t compare.

“Alright, alright.” 

Osborne released his grip around Peter’s neck and Tony released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. But then, in a flash, Osborne threw Peter full force at Tony. He caught the kid, but they stumbled to the ground, collapsing in a heap. 

Much to Tony’s dismay, he dropped the gun during the impact, and Osborne snatched it.

“Finally,” Norman shouted, smoothing his hair. “Now I can kill you both.” 

Tony shifted and sat in front of Peter, pressing the boy behind him, shielding the kid with his body. 

“Tony?” Peter whispered, voice croaking out in a barely audible rasp. 

“It’s okay Peter. I promise, you’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“How adorable,” Osborne mocked. “Did you become a Daddy in your time away from the Order?”

Tony huffed a growl, unwilling to respond to such senseless teasing. 

“Love was always your weakness, you know that? You should have been like me, Stark. I don’t care about my son, and that makes me powerful. When you don’t love anyone, you can’t get hurt. You don’t feel these foolish emotions of protection and anger and _grief_.”

He aimed the gun at Peter. “Say hi to Richard for me, kid.”

Tony leaped up in front of Osborne, twisting his arm just as the gun went off. Peter screamed and recoiled so violently, Tony was afraid for a brief second that he got hit, but there was no blood.

Ripping the weapon away from Osborne, Tony aimed it at his shoulder and shot fast. 

“This is why we don’t hesitate to shoot.” Tony explained to the kid, as he grabbed Osborne’s hands and bound them behind his back.

“Mr. Stark? YOU IDIOT.” Peter shrieked at the top of his lungs. “You could have been killed! Why would you jump in front of a gun like that?”

“Because I wasn’t letting him kill you.”

“So you decided to die instead? That’s not okay.”

“Relax Pete, I’m not dead.”

“Yeah but - You can’t just - you can’t - I wasn’t -“

“Kid, grab the cuffs, they’re in the back room. Third drawer in the second cabinet.”

“Son of a bitch!” Osborne screamed. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What was that you were saying about love being my weakness?” Tony asked, titling his head. “I’d like to think it makes me a thousand times stronger because I have someone to protect. Someone I would do anything for. I honestly hope someday you can understand that, and maybe reconcile with your own son. But you’ll have to do it from behind bars because we’re locking you away for life buddy.”

Tony’s eyes drifted to the still unconscious Bruce, and he wished he would wake up and witness this moment. It was all Bruce had ever wanted. Well, then again, he probably would try to kill the man so maybe it was best if Bruce was unconscious.

“Here Mr. Stark.” Peter handed him the cuffs.

“I need you to call Fury, do you have his number?”

Peter shook his head.

“Okay, take my phone, it should be in the Ford. I have him under my contacts.”

“What’s your password?”

“Morgan.” Tony whispered, squeezing Osborne’s arms even tighter. Yeah, they were lucky Bruce was unconscious because Tony wouldn’t blame him for trying to kill Osborne. If it were Obadiah, Tony wouldn’t hesitate to take him out.

“Fury said he’s coming.” Peter informed him as he walked over to where Tony was standing, still holding a viciously snarling Osborne.

“How could you do this to me, Peter? After everything I did for you?”

“Everything you did for me?” Peter scoffed. “What? You mean like try to kill me.”

“I should have killed you when I killed your parents.” Osborne barked and Peter stumbled backwards, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Tony jerked Osborne’s bloody shoulder in anger, before turning his eyes back to the kid’s.

“You - you killed my parents?”

Peter’s eyes went hard. “Why?!”

“Cause they wanted to leave the Black Order.”

“No!” Peter screamed. “No. My parents would never work for someone like you!”

“Peter, do you remember that story I told you, about how my partner died?” Tony asked quietly. The kid nodded. “He was your father. I didn’t know it at the time. But I know now that he was.”

“How!? Because this liar told you so?” Peter pointed an aggressive finger at Osborne.

“No,” Tony whispered. “I know because you look just like him. I couldn’t figure out who you reminded me of until I remembered Richard’s smug little grin that used to drive me crazy. Then it all made sense. You have his wit, his strength, his eyes. Even your fighting style is like his. It’s genetic.”

Peter closed his eyes, and smeared the back of his palm over his face. “You were friends with my Dad?”

“Yes. And I have so much to tell you about him.”

“Thank you.” Peter whispered, fingers curling tightly into the bottom of his shirt.

___________________

Nick Fury and the FBI showed up ten minutes later, and Norman Osborne was officially taken out of their lives.

An ambulance took Bruce to the hospital, and Tony directed the remaining FBI agents to the place where the Avengers were being held.

Peter went with them to show the Avengers that he was in fact still alive. Steve nearly crushed him to death with the hug he gave, and Natasha was hugging Tony to her chest.

“I’m going to need to buy you a beer.” She laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how’s that for a happy ending? 
> 
> The next chapter will be a conclusion chapter where Tony and Peter and the Avengers are just living their day-to-day life. I hope you had fun reading! Until next time.


	15. Step 15: Complete your mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But what if  
> Somewhere between   
> letting go and  
> holding on,  
> we found the courage   
> to love again.
> 
> \- Ariana Reines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!! I love every single one of you readers so much!!! I know I’m early posting this week, but I thought since it’s the last chapter and it’s pretty short, I would gift it to you on Valentine’s Day.

Two months later...

Blaring speakers vibrated the entire car as it pulled into the front of the garage. Peter pushed open the car door, and hopped out.

“Thanks for the lift, Happy.”

“Any time, kid. Hey, don’t forget your backpack.”

Peter rushed back to the car to retrieve the forgotten item, and Tony watched from the yard, his hair still damp from the shower. He had been waiting outside for the kid to return from his first day of school for fifteen minutes now, and he was growing impatient.

“Thanks Hogan.” He said when he caught a glimpse of Happy stashing a box of cookies in the glove compartment. The man turned to Tony and flipped him the middle finger.

“What was that for?” Tony snorted.

“Since when did I get demoted to driving the kid to school?”

“Since I said so, and you like getting paid.”

Happy muttered a few curse words, but they were in good nature. Tony knew he enjoyed driving Peter around, although he’ll never admit to it. Happy liked to keep the disgruntled old-man act going just to annoy Peter. They enjoyed the back-and-forth exchanges the same way Tony did.

Once Peter retrieved his backpack, he slapped the back of the car, and Happy drove away, taking the music with him.

“How was school?” Tony asked, sounding remotely excited, and even eager to hear Peter’s response.

The kid shrugged under his red sweatshirt. “It was alright.”

“That’s it? Just alright?”

“Mr. Stark, it’s _school_. Wha’da ya expect?”

“Fair point. Do you think you’ll make any new friends?”

“Well... there was this one guy, he seemed nice. I think his name was Ned. Oh, and there was this girl.” As soon as he said it, Peter immediately blushed.

“Ohhhh, Peter’s got a crush.”

“Shut up!” Peter ducked from Tony’s hand, which was now ruffling his fluffy brown locks.

“I’m _starving_. What’s for dinner?”

“Steve is cooking.”

“No shit. What’s the special occasion?”

“Your first day of of school of course.” Tony opened the side-door for him, and followed inside.

“Mmm, smells delicious.” Peter hummed, taking his seat at the kitchen table.

Steve was reading the pasta box’s instructions for several seconds of complete silence before he realized Peter was home.

“Oh hey! Welcome home.” Steve set the pasta box on the counter and moved over to the cupboard to retrieve a jar of sauce.

“Thanks. But it was just school. You guys act like I was gone away at war.”

“This house isn’t used to you being away for too long. It was so damn quiet.”

Peter’s expression turned into one of confused insult. “Hey! I’m not that loud.”

Laughing, Steve opened the jar of sauce and dumped the pasta into the boiling pot. Hard shells sprinkled in like sand filling a bucket.

“Dinner will be ready soon. I bet you’re hungry.”

“Starving.” Peter muttered as he began spilling papers from his backpack.

“What the hell is all this?” Tony asked taking a seat across from him.

“They gave me all this paperwork. Stop touching it! I’m separating into piles. Okay, this is biology.” His finger stabbed a packet of papers to indicate biology. “These ones are Math. Then English. History. Homeroom crap, office crap. Oh! Here, they said you need to sign everything in the folder.”

Peter handed Tony a huge manilla folder, before standing up and grabbing a pop tart out of the cupboard.

“Hey!” Steve scolded. “We’re about to have dinner.”

“I’m hungry now.” 

Tony stared at the papers with disgust. Why would they do this? Why would they print so many documents and send them home with a child. Tony tried to remember his own schooling. It seemed so long ago he couldn’t remember if his parents had to sign papers. He never got to experience Morgan in school, so he had no idea how this stuff worked.

Emergency contact information was one thing but signing that he read a fifty thousand page manual was another.

“They don’t actually expect me to read all this, do they?”

Peter shrugged. “I dunno. But can you please sign it cause it’s considered my first assignment and it’s due tomorrow.”

And even though he was only signing school documents, Tony felt as though that moment, that day, September 3rd, 2012, marked the official day he adopted Peter Parker.

Life moved quickly after Norman Osborne was sent to prison. They Avengers were more at ease, but their missions were far from over. The Black Order was still out there, and a new leader was bond to take Osborne’s place.

Steve still had a bone to pick with Ebony Maw for burning down his home and ordering him to kill his childhood friend. So their focus was mainly on him. But Fury certainly gave them enough missions regarding the other members of the Black Order, so the Avengers were plenty busy.

“If we would have opened that door it would have exploded.” Peter said, stuffing Twix bars into his mouth.

“So it was a trap?” Clint asked.

“For another member of the Black Order.” Tony said, scratching his chin. “Looks like more members are trying to leave.”

“This certainly makes our job easier if they’re attacking each other.” Steve said, passing a plate of bread over to Natasha.

“Hey Barton, you wanna leave some for the rest of us.” She scolded as Clint crammed three pieces of sweet and sour chicken on his plate. 

“Sorry.” He placed one little drumstick back on the center of the table. _Bastard_. 

With more missions arising, that meant more training for Peter.

“Use your height, Pete. Use your longer reach to keep your opponent at bay. Keep them just inside your kicking and punching range, but if you let them get too close, so that you’re inside their reach, you lose the advantage. You’ll get jammed.”

Peter moved his stance. “Like this?”

“That’s it!” Tony praised, pointing the fencing weapon at him. “Ready?”

Peter nodded.

“On guard!”

They trained everyday until the sun went down. It was a ritual of theirs in a way. They had gotten used to practicing together, and training was something to look forward too. That first training session two months ago was long forgotten.

They also had family meals around the table every night. What once was a rare place to come together, now became the main place they would spend their time. It was amazing to see Natasha, Bruce and Clint give up eating in front of the television in order to spend time with their friends.

They still had their struggles. Not everything was solved that night they caught Osborne. Peter’s sleeping habits were the number one issue still. He fell asleep during random times in the day, for brief naps, and he was awake most of the night. Tony had gotten better at keeping him company. He officially moved the sleeping bag into Peter’s room and slept in front of him like a guard dog.

Slowly, he was weaning Peter off of his company though. Some nights they tried to separate themselves just to see if they could do it, but it often ended in poor results.

“Pete. Come on, get up.” Tony grasped the top of Peter’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “Time for bed.”

After all this time, those words still made the kid flinch, but it was an involuntary reaction. His mind told him a second later that he was safe, and so he melted in Tony’s grasp, blinking sleepily at him.

“I’m in the middle of reading.”

“Bookmark the chapter you’re on.” Tony said, already nudging him towards the stairs.

Peter collapsed face first on his bed, not even bothering to turn off the lamp light, and snuggled into his pillow. “Night, Tony.”

Peter was dead asleep when Tony approached his bedside. With a toothbrush in one hand, Tony pulled Peter’s blankets up to his shoulders. “Goodnight, Pete.”

Tony never had a son before, but he felt like he had one now. On Saturday’s, Peter and Tony would fix the cars together and Tony would continue to teach him all of his mechanic tricks, just in case Peter wanted to be a mechanic someday. He often encouraged the kid to be whatever he wanted. Peter told him in all honesty one night that he never thought he would have a future, he thought he was going to die in one of the foster homes and that he wasn’t going to live to age eighteen. But now, he’s opened his mind to the possibility of choosing a career aspiration. Tony never shot any of them down, no matter how wild they were.

Some nights he wanted to be a chef. Sometimes it was a bar tender, zoo keeper, vet, thief, mechanic, and astronaut. He had some wild ambitions, but Tony supported every path. Even the one’s he wasn’t fond of, because he was raising Peter to make smart decisions. He trusted that the kid would have enough good judgement to make the right choice when it really counted. Besides, there was nothing wrong with dreaming big.

On a hot night, Tony was washing one of the cars when he caught sight of Peter and let the hose wander in the boy’s direction.

Jumping in surprise, Peter let out a squeal of excitement. “Mr. Stark!”

Tony shrugged, as if nothing had happened. Only ten seconds later he splashed water on him again.

Peter began laughing hysterically, and practically ran towards the water, begging to be sprayed again. Tony didn’t hesitate drenching him with water. Peter’s happy squeals quickly turned into loud screams of joy as he raced to find cover from the water that was now attacking him.

His bare feet splashed in the puddles as he ran along the sidewalk. Tony was following with the hose, until Peter was soaked from head to toe.

“Oh that’s it,” Peter barked, turning around and snatching the hose out of Tony’s hand.

“No, no, no,” Tony ran away, but Peter chased him spraying water the whole time. They both were smiling from ear-to-ear with water dripping down their faces.

Tony finally put the hose away when an elderly couple that was walking past the garage gave them a long judgmental stare.

“Oh shit, that was fun.”

One night Tony woke up to Peter shaking his shoulder. He ran a free hand over his face and looked at the clock on the end table. “It’s four in the morning, Peter.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

That wasn’t new. But recently the nightlight and sleeping bag had been helping.

“What? The nightlight isn’t working?”

“Stop teasing me, Mr. Stark. You can’t tease someone at four in the morning.”

“Oh is that a rule?”

“Mhm.” Peter’s brown knitted and he looked wide awake. “Do you think... maybe... do you think you could sleep in my bed?”

“What?” He demanded flatly.

“Please. Just for tonight. The nightmares are really bad tonight.”

Tony wondered if this had anything to do with the previous mission they had completed. It was a pretty rough one, and Peter had taken a few blows. He hadn’t been beaten up in a while. 

“Okay.” Tony said, flopping into the sheets with exhaustion and pushing the covers to the side for Peter to get in as well.

“Thanks,” Peter whispered crawling in eagerly, before stopping with sudden uncertainty.

“Am I making you uncomfortable.”

“No, not at all.”

“Okay good. I know I’m way too old for this... I’m sorry. But -“

“Peter, you don’t have to explain anything, just try to sleep.” Tony said with his eyes already closed. Peter wrapped one arm around Tony’s stomach, and began to drift to sleep with his head pillowed against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony liked the comfort of knowing Peter was with him, safe, and not all alone. He nuzzled his chin on top of Peter’s head keeping him safe, and protected and loved.

To love something that you know you can be taken from you in the blink of an eye is a petrifying concept. One might say it’s for fools. Well it’s a risk for sure, but what is worthwhile in life if not risky? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!! 
> 
> phew (*wipes sweat off of brow) I did it. I finished this crazy long story. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions for sure. A ton of blood and sweat went into making this. I spent hours writing into the late night/early morning. My sleep schedule has never been more terrible, BUT it was worth it!
> 
> It was worth it because I love this story, and because of YOU! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, it makes writing a lot easier when I know folks out there like it. :) 
> 
> I have some other story ideas, but it’s for a different show which I’m currently in-love with. So I’ll most likely start that project next. But I have written many previous stories about Peter and Tony, so if you want to check them out, feel free. Just click my name, and explore my page. 
> 
> Okay, that’s enough rambling for me... until next time! Lots of love ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> This is it!!! My new story!! I am still in the process of writing but I am going to try to update every four days. We will see, however, how things go. It might be once a week depending on how fast I can write and still give good content! Also the chapters in this book are REALLY LONG. So hopefully it will hold everyone over even if we have to wait a whole week. Lots of love to everyone! :)


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